


It's All Fun and Games Until...

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF!Bilbo, Blow Jobs, Dwori - Freeform, F/M, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other, Slow Build, Thilbo, bagginshield, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 41,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, burglar extraordinaire, always delighted in stealing. But when he steals the Arkenstone from one of the biggest, baddest mafia families in England, he finds himself dragged into a world he would really rather not being involved in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Bilbo Baggins, burglar extraordinaire, always delighted in stealing.

He’d grown up quite a respectable character, but after the brutal death of his parents he was left on his own, the rest of the family refusing to take him in due to his mother having been disowned for marrying Bungo, their gardener, many years ago.

After that, respectability hadn’t come into it, and Bilbo learnt to move without being seen, to take what he needed and take care of himself.

Most of all, he learnt that you could never rely on anyone else. Placing your trust in another person only ever resulted in that person breaking your trust, and Bilbo didn’t like it when things were broken.

As he grew older he gained quite the reputation and decided to expand his business.

So he started taking requests. People would come to him with the right amount of money and a task and he’d perform it, stealing everything from someone’s ex-girlfriend’s dog to a £20,000 necklace.

Whatever the task, though, he always found entertainment in it. In not only the actual act of thieving but also the preparation. Deciding the best way to go in, the best way to be unseen: the best way to escape.

He was fastidious in his planning, ensuring that if something did go wrong (which it inevitably would, occasionally) he was ready for it.

But he had to say, out of everything he’d been asked to steal, the Arkenstone was going to be the biggest most impractical heist he’d ever been asked to do.

The probability that he would walk out of this one alive was slim to none, but the money was good, too good. And Bilbo had to admit, he was curious what the million-dollar stone looked like.

Just imagining holding it in his hands made Bilbo’s heart race with excitement and his adrenaline levels shoot up, rushing through his veins. He visibly shook with anticipation.

He knew he had to do this, whether it was deathly dangerous or not.

He was also very curious as to what a man like Smaug would want with it. At first he’d assumed Smaug was a member of a rivalling family to the Durin’s, though that idea had gone out the window pretty quick.

He just didn’t seem like the mobster type, Smaug. Maybe he was a high end politician; many were known to delve into the underworld due to certain illegal vices. Or perhaps he was just a greedy, rich man, wanting the Arkenstone simply for the fact that it was the Arkenstone.

He pushed it out of his mind for now, knowing he’d have to return to the subject of his patron for this heist later. Right now, he needed to plan.

The Durin’s were one of the biggest, baddest Mafia families in the country. Everyone knew the name. Not only because of the mobster link, but also because the Durin’s owned almost half of everything. Cafe’s and bars and shopping centres and even art galleries, their hands were everywhere.

Lots of metaphorical fingers in lots of metaphorical pies.

If Bilbo was caught on camera, he’d be screwed, unable to go anywhere for months, possibly years. They’d hunt him like a dog; he’d have to go into hiding, disappear. That was if he even got that far. The more likely ending for this was that he would be shot or caught and dragged down into some damp, smelly basement and beaten until he told them who hired him. He’d like to avoid that, if at all possible.

But even if he somehow got into the house, past not only the entire Durin family (which was over twenty people by the way) but also the multiple guards and staff, and managed to sneak past the forty-or-so security cameras and into the main office of Thorin Oakenshield, head of the Durin family. Even if he achieved all that, he'd then have to somehow magically find, get into the safe where the Arkenstone was kept, and still get out of the house afterwards, passing back through all those cameras and staff and guards again. And he had to do it quickly, too.

Never mind that if he even wanted to get into the house he had to pass four cameras, a large gate, and two security guards. And never mind that the gate that surrounded the Durin family home was nearly ten feet high with spikes on the top, so attempting to climb over was out of the question. This left only one option: he had to waltz in through the front gates and in through the front door.

He was screwed.

 


	2. Burglarizing: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Insert cheesy, tacky, cliche, run-of-the-mill robbery scene here].

For the next week he had nightmares about dark basements and broken bones and blood and knuckle dusters. But the perfect idea came to him not soon after the week had ended, albeit in the strangest possible way.

He had just finished dinner and had gotten up to set the plate in the sink when he lights in his house flickered off and on, and he stubbed his toe on his favourite chair, dropping his plate.

He stared down at the shards of ceramic, then up at the lights to scowl. The idea had hit him when his eyes reached the roof.

_Oh_. Bilbo had thought. _That could work_.

He’d grabbed his phone and called the only person he knew who would be able to help him.

“Gandalf’s Computer repair, I’m very, very busy, why are you bothering me?”

“Gandalf, its Bilbo.”

“Bilbo, my friend!” Gandalf’s voice cheered instantly. “How have you been?”

“Well, well, and you? Still on the meds?”

“I am, and I will not allow that insolence in your tone. My medicine is perfectly legal, thank you. It eases my arthritis.”

“Sure it does. Listen, I called because I need a favour and you still owe me one from last time we saw each other.” Gandalf blew a heavy sigh into the phone.

“I suppose. What did you need?”After Gandalf agreed (curious, but not asking questions), Bilbo went in search of the blueprints for the layout of the Durin family mansion, and was pleased by what he found. But he needed the perfect day to go ahead with this now-brilliant plan. He kept a look out while he prepared what he would need for the robbery.

With a month spent with his ear to the ground, he finally found the perfect day to initiate his plan. He had to wait until the 15th: the day of Kili Durin’s twentieth birthday.

The next two weeks flew by and the day before he knew it, it was the 14th, and he was calling Gandalf to make sure everything was still on.

“I’ve got it,” Gandalf had assured him, “When did you want me to do it?”

“Midday, if you could. Just text me when you’ve done it and I’ll get on with what I have to do,” Gandalf was very obviously restraining himself from asking what exactly it _was_ that Bilbo was doing, but he knew Bilbo well, and he knew he never shared information on an assignment.

 

* * *

 

At ten to twelve he got into his transportation and waited. It didn’t take long. His phone beeped at two past twelve, and he tapped the screen, opening the message.

‘ _Done_ ’, was all it said.

He grinned and started the engine.

His mother had told him once that if you’re going to lie, you’ve got to lie big. _There’s no point in doing things halfway_ , she’d informed him, giving him a stern point. He didn’t really remember the context of the conversation, maybe he’d done something wrong, and she was calling him out on it, he wasn’t sure. But those words had stuck with him.

Confidence was the key to tricking people. Besides, no one suspected the obvious cover because most people were too stupid to try it. But if you could make yourself believe it, then anyone could believe it. If a cover was so overtly stupid as a cover that it became covert. _If_ you did it right.

He pulled up across the road from Durin mansion and swallowed dryly.

Here he was, finally, after more than two months of planning and preparation. It was even bigger in real life than it had been in the pictures. He let out a low whistle and closed his eyes for a minute, once again picturing the map he’d memorized. Then, making sure his cap was on tightly, he exited the van he’d borrowed, walking to the gates.

He put on his thickest accent and spoke gruffly.“’Ello?” the guard looked him up and down.

“Who’re you?”

“I’m with the electric company,” he gestured to his shirt, “there’s been a power outage on the street, I’m here to see if I can fix it,” the guard paused, considering it.

“One moment,” he stepped away from the gates, speaking on his walkie-talkie in a language Bilbo didn’t recognize. “Someone’s coming down now,” Although Bilbo didn’t doubt Gandalf often, he felt himself briefly doing so now.

After a short wait he noticed a lone figure coming down the drive now, and swallowed deeply. He was tall, that much Bilbo could tell from that distance, with frightening, bulging muscles, dark tattoos over his knuckles and along his shaved head. He was hardly the kind of guy Bilbo went for. In fact, he was the complete opposite.

_Jesus._ Bilbo thought. _He could easily rip my head off_.

He cleared his throat as the man reached the gate now. “I’m Clive,” he explained, “from the electric company,”

“Dwalin,” the man grunted, looking at him suspiciously. “We didn’t call no technician,”

“I’m an electrician, actually,” he corrected, sounding curt. Dwalin’s lip twitched at the correction. “And of course yer didn’t,” Bilbo replied, rolling his eyes as if that were obvious. “But yer lost yer power, right _?” God,_ he tried to keep himself calm, _Gandalf better have done his job properly when he hacked into the power grid and cut electricity to the street_. Dwalin nodded and he felt relief course through him. “The company sent me. They think you lot shorted out the whole street.” he threw in some technical jargon. It was all lies, of course, but hopefully the man didn’t know that.

“I’ve never heard such bullshit.” Dwalin scoffed and it took everything Bilbo had not to wince.

“Me too, mate,” he continued, staying casual, “but I’ve been ordered down here, so I gots to check it out,”

“Alright, but you’ll be staying with me the entire time. No wandering off or it’ll be my head.”

“Fairs is fairs,” Dwalin waved at the other guard and the gates swung open. “I’ll need to see the power box,”

“This way,” they began to walk and Bilbo garbled on as they walked about how nice the place was and how he’d rather live here than in his shitty flat on the East End. It seemed to work; the man suppressed a yawn, looking hardly interested, and led him to the power box at the side of the house. Bilbo set his tool box on the ground and busied himself opening it.

“Yer ought to turn off all the lights throughout the house, just in case,” Bilbo informed him. That’d take him a while to do. “And soon, too, I’d hate to ruin the wiring of a place like this- it’d cost a small fortune to fix.” he forced a loud, annoying laugh that resembled something like a drill.

It did the trick, Dwalin seemed eager to leave and Bilbo watched him go, waiting until he disappeared around the corner before he quickly pulled open the window beside the power box, shimmying his way inside. His foot caught on the edge of the window ledge and he fell into the room with a _thump_.

He froze, repressing a groan of pain, hoping no one heard his little mishap. As quiet as he could be sometimes, he wasn’t exactly that light on his feet.

The room was dark and quiet, and he heard no sounds of anyone venturing near to inspect where the noise had come from, so he jumped to his feet and went over to the door, peering out. Thankfully no one was in the hall and he darted out and up the stairs as quickly as he could, following the mental map he’d memorized.

The office was in the middle of the second floor, and, as he’d assumed, it was empty. Everyone was still out the back, celebrating the birthday, blissfully unaware. But he didn’t have long.

He knelt at the door, pulling out his pick and unlocking it in what _had_ to be the shortest amount of time ever. There was not enough time to celebrate a new personal best for him, though. He could do that later. He pushed the door open and rushed inside, locking it behind him.

The room was really quite lovely. Simple, but lovely. The walls were dark and plain, the furniture comfortable. A cheerful looking fire sat unlit to one of the walls, a large bookcase sat against the other.  Some chairs were placed in front of the fire, a few books piled onto them. There was a large desk towards the back of the room, a flash computer and some stationary items on the top. An empty cup and a plate containing a half-eaten sandwich sat beside the keyboard.

_Now was the hard bit._ His best bet was the usual place rich people loved to hide their safes: behind paintings. Though that was incredibly foolish and predictable, you’d be surprised as to how many people actually _did_ use that technique.

But there was only one painting in this room and it wasn’t hanging on the wall. Instead it was sitting on a wooden chair near the door. Bilbo cursed, pacing the room, looking through the desk, even going as far as to tap on the walls, in case there was a room hidden beyond.

He was taking too long. At this rate he’d have no time to open the safe. That was if he ever found it.

Fleetingly, he glanced at the bookcase. Then he paused.

He moved over towards it, looking for something that would fit the description. A set of three red books caught his eye. He’d almost walked straight past them, they were made so well. He grabbed them and wiggled them, finding they were only half the width of an average book. Yanking them away, the thick, sturdy safe was revealed, and Bilbo felt a shot of glee rush through him.

He reached for the keypad to test a code, but heavy footsteps alerted him to someone’s presence down the hall. He went very still, his breath catching when they stopped outside the doorway. He could see shadows passing under the gap, and the doorknob rattled and Bilbo was going to dive for the study desk near the window, but when the door didn’t open, proving that it was locked, the rattling stopped.

_Thank God._ Bilbo was sweating. Thankfully he’d remembered to lock the door.

He slowly turned his attention back to the safe, thinking about the options he had for the code.

From what he had found in his research, tragedy followed the family around like a plague, beginning with Frerin Durin and his mother, who were claimed by an explosion while they were on holiday. Bilbo had memorized the date, but the safe didn’t budge.

Well, then... not a few years after that incident, the grandfather, Thror, had fallen to madness and took his own life. Then Thror's son, Thrain, had lost his life in a stand-off with Azog, the famous MI6 agent who all but destroyed the Durin family’s hold on the north of the country, pretty much bankrupting their businesses up there.

Bilbo tried the date of the stand-off... nothing.

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he assured himself. Panicking would do nothing to help him. “Just think. Pretend you’re Thorin Durin. Big, scary mobster, overly protective of his family,” Bilbo gave a shrug, “rightly so,” he paused. “Probably sentimental, so maybe...?” he pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket that he’d copied the all the dates down on. He typed them in and the door popped open with a _thunk_. “ _His_ _mother’s birthday_?” Bilbo was incredibly unimpressed. He thought Mob Bosses were supposed to be tough, stone-hearted, stoic-faced sort of men. He slammed the safe shut and slotted the books back over it before looking about the room, making sure it was just how he left it.

If he hurried now he could probably just make it before the guard returned. He exited the room, checking twice to make sure the door was locked, and crept down the hall and towards the stairs. He peered around the balustrade, glad to find the hall at the bottom of the stairs empty.

He was halfway down when one of the doors ahead of him opened and the guard, Dwalin, exited, obviously having finished turning off all the lights.

Bilbo froze on the stairs in such a manner that if he’d been watching himself he’d have laughed uncontrollably. Thankfully, Dwalin continued down the hall and around the corner without looking behind him.

Releasing a breath of relief, he ran halfway down the hall and to the room he’d entered the house through, crawling out the window and landing ungracefully on the hard ground. He’d forced it closed fell to his knees at the toolbox, stuffing his prize inside and picking up an instrument just as Dwalin turned the corner.

“Not fixed yet?” he grunted, seeming irritated.

“Sorry,” he let out another one of those irritating laughs. “They’re a bit temperamental sometimes- don’t always like to work.” He dropped the instrument back in the box, tightly closing the lid. “Shame, too, the boss was sure this house was the source of the power outage.” He proceeded to stand up and make of show of wiping his hands on his jeans. “But _I_ thought it might be a problem with the main grid,” Bilbo heaved a sigh and raised his shoulders in a ‘what can you do’ sort of gesture. “He never listens to _me_ , though.”

“Right,” Dwalin was clearly not interested.

“I’ll go and call my superior,” he continued, “see if any of the others have found the problem yet,” he pulled at the brim of hit hat. “Yer mind showing me the way out of this maze?” Dwalin gave a rough nod.

“This way,” he barked, stalking off, and Bilbo had to run to catch up with him.

 

 

 


	3. Burglarizing: Part 2

When the heavy wrought-iron gates closed behind him he felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little. He got into the van he’d rented, keying they ignition and pulling away from the footpath he was parked on.

He drove the car back to the yard, returning it to its owner and ducked into a public loo nearby to take his shirt and hat off and remove the wig he’d been wearing. He stuffed them all into his bag, deciding to deal with the prosthetics later.

He reviewed the afternoon as he ambled along the pathway, rubbing a hand over his chin. _Well_. That had gone surprisingly well.

He would have said it was his skill, but that wouldn’t be right. I mean, Bilbo was good, but he wasn’t _that_ good. He’d fully expected to die today.

Maybe the Durin’s were just really easily duped. Or maybe they were having a bad day.

Or _maybe_ , they were waiting for him to get off the street before they grabbed him. Bilbo felt his chest tighten, and glanced behind him. But there was no one there and the sun shined cheerily and people chattered on the street across from him.

Or maybe he really _was_ that good. Maybe all these years had made this sort of thing so easy for him and he’d just never noticed until now. The only proper robbery he’d ever failed at (not counting the first few he tried his hand at as a boy on the streets) was one where he’d been ducking through a museum, and hadn’t timed the rotation of the guards properly. He hadn’t been caught though. He was quick on his feet and had managed to lose the guard by bolting out of the museum, then down the road, and jumping into the Thames. Let’s just say it hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

He tried to relax, but never let his guard down fully.

And just to be safe, he took the long way home, looping through alley’s and down streets he didn’t need to go through.

He got home in one piece, and only when he locked the door did he allow himself to feel a little smug. He set his things on the table, organizing them into piles before putting them all away accordingly.

When he was left solely with the little bundle sitting on the table top, he picked it up, weighing it in his palm. It was big, but not as big as he’d imagined. From the small glance he’d taken when he opened the safe, it had been beautiful. He pulled the cloth away now to reveal the blue stone, so bright and beautiful that is almost seemed to be _glowing_.

His fingertips ran over one of the many facets that reflected his awe-stricken face. “Wow,” he breathed.

Briefly, he considered keeping it for himself. Not for the money, though it was worth a large amount. Living a homeless life had taught Bilbo to covet a different type of treasure. Food, a warm house, a cup of tea. He had no need for gold or pretty stones.

No, Bilbo wanted to keep it simply because it was beautiful. It was one of the loveliest things he had ever seen. After inspecting it for some time, he forced himself to wrap it back up, and left it on the table.

He was famished. What he needed right now were a few scones and a good cup of tea, and he set about doing as such.

After making what he fancied, Bilbo settled into his favourite chair, resting the plate of scones on his knee, and took a gratifying sip of his drink. He let out a contented sigh as the warm liquid slipped down his throat, settling warmly in his stomach.

“I suppose I ought to call Smaug, then.” He mused to himself, taking another sip. But not before he took these blasted prosthetics off. He _could_ _not_ forget this time.

Last time he went to sleep with a fake nose on and had bent it out of shape when he’d rolled onto his stomach.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, long after he had finished his tea and readied himself for bed, long after he’d fallen into a comfortable sleep (the Arkenstone tucked beneath his pillow), a loud roar of rage shot through the Durin mansion, and none of the Durin family slept that night.

 

 

 


	4. Going on an Adventure

He arranged to meet Smaug three days after in some dingy parking lot. It all seemed so silly to Bilbo. Usually people just met him in a diner or somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere he could bring a bag along and just accidentally leave it with the other person after a cup of coffee. But Smaug went the whole nine yards when it went to cheesy-movie-clichés. Bilbo had tried not to laugh when he'd been told the location.

Smag had come alone, as asked, and stood in the middle of the dark lot, suitcase at his feet.

“You have my stone?” was the first thing out of his mouth when he saw Bilbo. Bilbo lifted the bundle out of his pocket.

“You have my money?” he retorted, and Smaug gestured at the briefcase at his feet.

"Naturally,"

“Show it to me,” he demanded.

“Show me the stone first,” Bilbo did as he asked, albeit with a measure of hesitation, pulling away the cloth to reveal the bright blue stone, shining in the darkness. He watched as Smaug’s eyes glinted with goldlust.

“Now my money,” he picked up the case, opening it and revealing a fair amount of money- though not as much as Bilbo had been expecting.

“This isn’t the amount we agreed on.”

“The amount changed.” Smaug replied pointedly.

“You can’t just-” his sentence was cut clear off when Smaug’s other hand, which had previously been tucked into his pocket, lifted up the reveal gleaming metal. A gun.

_Goddamn it._

“You can accept this payment for your efforts, or I could shoot you, take the stone, and save _all_ my money. Now, I pride myself on being a reasonable man, and I think you’ll find that I am being more than generous with this offer,” Smaug gave a self-satisfied grin. “I’ll leave you to make the decision,” he informed Bilbo, condescension practically dripping from his voice.

Bilbo didn’t need to consider it. “I think I’d rather end this day with a heartbeat rather than without one, thank you,” he held out the stone. Smaug gave another smile (if it could even be called a smile, it was more a sneer- the bearing of teeth) and they made their trade.

“It’s been a pleasure,” and with his newly found prize, Smaug waltzed off, seeming proud of himself.

Others had made that mistake before, believing they could simply threaten him and get what they wanted.

The difference between him and Smaug was that when Smaug thought he was better, smarter, and that egotism was a weakness. Smaug’s mistake was underestimating him.

So Bilbo did what any respectable thief would do when they were jilted. He stole the Arkenstone back.

 

* * *

 

It had been fairly easy, in the end. For someone with such a smug, superiority complex, Smaug’s place was hardly a labyrinth like the Durin house was. He’d simply gone in when he was sure Smaug was out, gone into his study, and hey-ho, he’d found the Arkenstone on display. There had only been two cameras and the display case _had_ been alarmed, but by the time the police arrived, Bilbo was long gone.

 _“Smug bastard,”_ Bilbo had muttered when he’d snatched it up.

He weighed it in his hand when he’d returned home, thinking about the gravity of the crime he’d just committed. At least with the Durin’s anonymity was not an issue. They didn't know him. All they knew was an electrician had showed up the same day the stone had dissappeared.

Smaug would _know_ it was him. Smaug would come _after_ him.

But Bilbo could always leave.

He had enough money to start again somewhere fresh, and even though he was attached to this city, he could leave for a while, until the heat died down, until he found some resolution to his new problem.

But he knew he could never leave permanently.

He packed a bag, filling it with the necessary items, threw it over his shoulder, and left with one last longing glance at his comfortable apartment.

This would be the last time he saw the place for a very long time.

He’d return, of course: one day,

But for now, he was going on an adventure.

 

 

 


	5. Running Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo sends the Durin's a little present before making good in his escape,

He posted the stone back to the Durin’s. After all, he had no need for it.

It felt a bit weird though, sticking the priceless jewel into a cardboard mailing container and shoving it into a post box. But the pick-up for the post was in thirty minutes, so it’d find its way to back to its rightful place within a few hours, which was a good thing.

He made his way to the station now, stomach grumbling, and dully nibbled at a packed of vending-machine crisps as he waited for his train to arrive. He would have loved bacon and eggs and toast and hash browns and may some beans, and a nice, hot cup of tea, but instead he had stale chips on his tongue and a terrible tasting coffee from the weird vendor outside the station.

This morning was not shaping out to be his best morning ever, but he hadn’t really expected much. A voice over the intercom announced that his train would be arriving in three minutes and Bilbo got to his feet, picking up his bag. He felt a little shot of giddy excitement run through him when the train pulled up, metal groaning and grinding against metal, breaks squealing, strange hissing noises rising from the wheels as it settled into the platform. Bilbo always liked going to new places, and this was no different. All the new experiences, the things he would see.

He’d imagined if his parents hadn’t of died, that they would have traveled a lot. His mother had loved traveling. She was always telling him some story about her adventures, and Bilbo knew from a very young age that he wanted to be just like her, running off and having adventures of his own.

The doors slid open and he stepped onto the train now, saying a quiet goodbye to his hometown and finding a seat that looked out of the way.

Before long he’d be in an entirely different place, meeting entirely new people, and he carried that thought with him, trying to give himself some sort of comfort.

 

* * *

 

 

It was about then thirty when the parcel arrived at Durin mansion, and was received with a fair amount of confusion, scepticism and a small amount of celebration. Because there it was, the Arkenstone, wrapped up in the same cloth it had been in before it was taken, with a piece of paper tucked underneath it.

_Courtesy of Smaug_ , the quick, messy scrawl had read.

“Smaug,” Thorin had repeated, hands fisting tightly, crumpling the paper.

“Looks like whoever he got to do this double-crossed him,” Dwalin let out a loud laugh at that. “Seems you just can’t trust crooks, these days, can you, Balin?”

“It seems not,” his brother mused, running a hand over his white beard.

“Odd that the thief should send it back to us, though, isn’t it?” Gloin muttered. “This thing is worth a fortune; he could have sold it and been sailing around the Seychelles by now.”

“A good-hearted crook?” suggested Dori. “Like a modern-day Robin Hood,”

“Sounds like my kind of fellow,” Nori said now with a grin.

“Whoever he is-”

“Or she,” countered Dis.

“Or she,” Thorin repeated, “Whoever they are, they have a few questions to answer.”

“You want us to find someone who might know who our mystery burglar is?”

“His assistant might,” Gloin chimed in, “he sorts out all Smaug’s dirty work.”

“Alright, go and garb the assistant, and we’ll weasel some answers out of him.”

 

* * *

 

After three train rides, Bilbo was in Gloucester by lunchtime, and boarding a fourth that would take him to Nottingham, where he had to change trains once more. Then, he’d get on another train at Newport, pass through Cardiff and then after four long hours he’d be at Pembroke, where he could take the ferry over to Ireland.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He’d have to stay the night in Pembroke, though, because by the time he’d get to the docks, the last ferry of the day would have been long gone.

The intercom dinged and an annoying cheerful voice declared that the train would be pulling away from the station in three minutes.

Bilbo tried to relax into yet another uncomfortable train seat, and stared out the window beside him.

 

* * *

 

At that very moment, in the basement of the Durin mansion, Gollum Sméagol was tied to a chair, Dwalin having just finished his second round of torture on the creature. And creature was the right word for him, for he was hardly a man. Small, with eyes to big for his head, long, thin, misshapen fingers and a strange hissing sound for a voice. That voice was screeching now, screaming in pain, and Dwalin twisted the knife he’d lodged into Gollum’s leg, repeating the question he’d been asking for the past hour and a half.

 “Who stole the stone for your boss?”

“We’s do not know, precious, we’s do not know,” Gollum babbled incomprehensibly, and Dwalin pulled back, rolling his eyes.

“He’s a nutter,” he informed Thorin, who had come to see how progress was doing. Thorin considered the writhing, thin, pale excuse for man before him. “He just keeps saying the same thing. Then he talks to himself- full on conversations.”

“I’ll take over,” Thorin informed him, stepping in front of him. “Go take a break.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Take a break,” he repeated, “you’ve more than earned it.”

“Go easy on him; I feel a little bad for him- having to work for that bastard.”

Dwalin left his boss down there, strolling up the stairs and onto the first floor landing. He closed the door behind him and moved to the kitchen.

Fili and Kili were sharing a plate of chips, Ori watching on with envy from across the room. When he spotted Dwalin he smiled, and when Dwalin did not return the smile, his gaze flickered down and his face reddened in embarrassment.

“Boys,” he grunted, walking over to the fridge and pulling the doors open to get a look at what food was on offer.

“Dwalin. How’s tricks?”

“Tricks go well,” he pulled out a can of soda and popped the lid, “As well as they can with a nutter like that downstairs.”

“Still no answers, then, eh?”

“Not yet. But Thorin’s taking over, so we’ll get some answers pretty soon.”

“Ten minutes, tops.” Fili said now.

“Ten?” Kili scoffed. “I’ll give him five.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

“Sure, I’ll bet you fifty quid.” Kili offered him his hand.

“Fine, you’re on.” They shook on it.

It took seven minutes.

“Baggins!” the scream reverberated through the basement and up to the first floor, “Baggins! B-Bilbo Baggins!”

Kili made an annoyed noise and pulled his wallet out.

“Off by two fucking minutes,” he muttered, pulling the cash out and slapping it on the table in front of his now-grinning brother. “Un-fucking-believable,”

“Language!” Dis entered the kitchen now, pointing at Kili sternly. “I will not hear those words in this house," she paused, "at least not when I’m around to hear it,”

“Sorry, mum,” he smiled sheepishly.

The basement door creaked open then, Thorin’s heavy boots sounding in the hallway and he came round the corner, wiping blood from his hands.

“Drink?” he asked, and Dwalin got to his feet to get one for him.

“What do yer fancy?”

“Whatever,”

“Could you have kept it down a little?” Dis asked Thorin as Dwalin rifled through the fridge, hands on hips. “I don’t think the whole street needs to know that we’re torturing people in our basement.”

“It’s not my fault.” Thorin set the bloody cloth on the table. “Some people are just screamers,”

“Aye, you’re right there.” Dwalin agreed, handing Thorin a cider before sitting down again. “Will he be right?”

“A few scars, but he’ll live.”

“We’ll just dump him at the hospital later, right?” Thorin gave a nod.

“We don’t need another death on our hands- last weeks’ fiasco was enough for me,” he turned to the youngest member of their group now. “Ori, I need you to do an background search on a Bilbo Baggins, I want everything on him you can find.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Ori slid from his seat and left the room.

“Why bother even going after him?” Dis wondered now and Thorin gave her a disparaging look. “What?” she asked. “He sent it back, we’ve got it now. I think your ego’s a little bruised because he figured you out and knew what your safe code was.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw,” Dis pouted, pinching at Thorin’s cheeks, “did the itty-bitty-electrician embarrass you?”

Dwalin snorted into his drink and Fili and Kili burst out into laughter openly.

Thorin batted away her hands.

“Hey,” she suggested now, “maybe he’s just your type. Involved in criminal activity and all, he probably wouldn’t have a problem with you being a mobster. You know, you haven’t shagged anyone in years, let alone had a boyfriend and-”

“Enough,” he ordered. “I’m going upstairs. I need to clean myself up.” He stalked out of the room and up the stairs, leaving the others laughing in his wake.

He might have been the big bad wolf where the media was concerned, but within _his_ family, he was the butt of the jokes, the teddy-bear.

 

 

 


	6. Found

“He’s not at his house,” Dwalin informed Thorin, who sat at his desk, flicking through files, “and his neighbours say he left rather suddenly early this morning. And by early I mean sun-up.”

Thorin heaved a sigh and ran a hand over his face.

So the Burglar had run, then.

“Ori’s been looking, though, checking his card history and sending his information out to everyone we know- even in Scotland. If the bugger’s tried to get away, we’ll find him.”

“Well, if he’s running he’s probably trying to run far. Get someone to check the airports, and make sure the people near the borders keep a strong eye out- same goes for people near ferries or boats. You notified Dain in Devon?” Dwalin gave a nod. “And Bofur in Pembroke?”

“They’ve both been told- along with Casper’s men up near the Scottish border.”

“Good. Someone ought to see him soon; he couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air. People don’t do that.”

“Not unless we make ‘em disappear, that is.” Dwalin added, and Thorin gave a roll of his eyes.

“Yes, but when we do it they haven’t actually gone anywhere, have they? They’re dead.”

Dwalin just shrugged his massive shoulder. “Fair enough,”

There was an almost-silent knock on the door and Ori tentatively peered around the doorway, his voice very small.  “Sir?”

“What is it Ori?”

“I went over the Burglar’s funds, and I didn’t find many recent purchases on his card,” Thorin swore, but Ori continued, “But my face recognition program is running over the CCTV at all the train stations in the city, so something should come up soon.”

“If that comes up with nothing, check the airport.”

“Yes, sir,”

“Alright, thank you, Ori.”

Ori nodded and scurried away, much like a mouse running out of a cat’s lair.

“You ought to stop frowning at him,” Thorin informed his friend now, “he thinks you hate him.” Dwalin didn’t reply. “You could just ask him out- if you’re willing to deal with Nori and Dori.” Still no reply. Thorin sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave it to your silent pining, then.” He left then, after a heavy clap on his shoulder. “By the way,” he said as he walked to the door to leave, “Bombur just finished cooking a fresh batch of cookies. But you might want to get there as fast as you can- Fili and Kili were stuffing their faces with them last I saw.”

Dwalin’s face was priceless.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was tired. All he wanted to do was crawl up into his warm bed and sleep. But he was too far away from home to do that now. He hopped off the train when it arrived in Pembroke, glad that at least (for tonight) there would be no more travelling.

He found a little lovely inn, not too far away from the docks, where he could spend the night. It was cold and windy outside, so when he pushed into the lobby he let out long and thankful sigh at the heating.

There was a short man with sunken eyes at the front desk, holding a very large take-away cup of coffee between his hands. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He gave Bilbo a forced, polite smile when he saw him.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’d like a room, please,” the man smiled again, but it slipped from his face after a second and he froze, frowning. He moved his eyes from Bilbo to something under the desk. “Is... everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course, just a minute,” he grabbed a piece of paper and disappeared into a backroom.

Bilbo tried to peer over the desk and into the room, but he couldn’t see much. The tired man returned pretty quickly, offering another polite smile, and was followed by another.

“Evening,” Bilbo took a look at the man (a tallish, friendly bloke with a thick moustache and bright, kind eyes) and smiled back.

“Evening, is there a problem?” the man gave a laugh.

“Oh, no, of course not: we didn’t mean to worry you. I’m Bofur,” he smiled and offered his hand across the table. “Just ignore me- I’m here for the owner of the franchise, I’m just checking that things are going along smoothly.”

“Oh,” Bilbo took the hand- it was warm and welcoming and he felt oddly at ease, “alright then,”

“Got an ID on you?” The first man asked.

“Sure,” he fished around in his pockets. “Just let me grab it,”

“Cash or card?”

“Cash,” Bilbo informed him, pulling out his wallet and handing over his drivers licence.

“How many nights?”

“Just the one,”

“You here on holiday, Mr...?” Bofur looked at him for an answer.

“Baggins,” Bilbo replied. “Bilbo," he couldn't use a fake name- if he lied the man would notice that the name he said was completely different to the name on his ID. "And I’m just passing through: catching the ferry tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s nice- you got family over the way?” He gave a small smile and nodded.

“Alright, here’s your room key- it’s just up the stairs and to your left.”

“Thank you,”

“Have a nice night,” Bofur informed him, pulling into his pocket and reaching for his phone. “I’ll just be a minute, Jed,” he informed the other man, “gotta make an important business call.”

Bilbo trailed up the creaky stairs and found his room, a warm, comfortably furnished, slightly boring thing with ugly curtains. He set his bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, bending over and unlacing his shoes.

“What I need is a good cup of tea,” he said to himself, sliding off his jacket and folding it up, setting it on the chair beside the bed. “A good cup of tea and some nice biscuits,” he would have had a shower and considered eating, but he was too tired o do either, so instead he turned off the lights and crawled into bed, not bothering to even take off his jeans and t-shirt.

His eyes felt heavy and he felt relief course through him when he finally closed them and pressed his face into the pillow. “This is nice,” he hummed before falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs Bofur flicked his mobile shut, coming back inside and up to Jed, who was waiting eagerly for him.

“What are our orders?”

“You forge his checkout onto the sheet, just in case anyone comes looking for him- we’ll wait until midnight before grabbing him.”

 

 

 


	7. Taken

He’d hardly put up a fight.

He’d twitched when the door creaked open, and when the cloth had pressed into his mouth he’d shot awake, struggling- but when the chloroform kicked in his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed back onto the mattress, unconscious.

Bofur felt guilty, because although he’d only just met the man, he’d liked him, and now he was binding the man’s hands and putting him into the back of a car in the middle of the night, making sure no one noticed what was going on.

Not that there were many people around this time of night.

He got into the passenger side, next to his brother Bifur, who started the engine.

“Go as fast as you can without attracting attention,” he informed him in Khuzdul, “Thorin wants him there as soon as possible.” He glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man in the backseat now.

Head lolled to the side, bright curls in a tangle, his face free of scars or deep lines. He'd seemed so nice, and he looked so... innocent. Bofur tried to ignore the remorse settling into his stomach.

He was just doing what he was told to do.

Hopefully Thorin would go easy on the poor fellow.

 

 

 


	8. Interrogation

The voices were what first alerted Bilbo that something was wrong. He couldn’t remember much of yesterday, but one thing he did know was that he was certainly not meant to be surrounded by people (who were talking rather loudly, by the way) with his hands bound behind his back.

“He doesn’t even look like a burglar,” the voice was gruff and strong, and highly irritated, and something about it, some quality it held, made Bilbo’s heart rate spike. “He looks like a grocer.”

“Are we even sure this is him? I mean, do we even know that this guy _is_ the guy who stole the Arkenstone? Gollum could have lied. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had.”

“He’s as small as the other guy was,” Bilbo recognized that voice. The guard from the Durin’s house- Dwalin, his name as, "Though that’s the only similarity- he looks nothing like the technician.”

Bilbo couldn’t help himself. “Electrician, actually,” the words came out on a groan and he managed to open his eyes. His head was hanging down, so the first thing he saw was his legs, strapped down onto a chair. He tried his hands again. Not rope, he thought, handcuffs.

“I take it back- that’s him, alright.”

There was no point in lying anyway, Bilbo decided as he tried to move his head up to get a look at the small group around the chair. They’d just beat it out of him anyway.

“You know,” he managed, “I had a nightmare like this not that long ago,” the first thing he saw was Dwalin, who was leaning over him, rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“You’ll answer our questions,” he said.

“I think you’ll find I’m a perfectly cooperative person, especially when I’m tied to a chair and at the mercy of mobsters,” Dwalin’s lip twitched in amusement, but he shut it down pretty quick, his face returning to the teeth-bearing monster he had been not a minute ago. "I have no need to beaten beyond recognition."

“You stole the stone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I was paid to.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I climbed through a window on the first floor.”

Confusion passed over Dwalin's face. “You did?” he asked, the anger slipping from his eyes.

“What did you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” he gave a shrug, “that’s why I was asking you.”

“Enough,” a strong hand clamped down on Dwalin’s shoulder. “Tell us why you returned it.”

Bilbo took a look at the other man.

He was tall (even taller than Dwalin, if that was possible), with long, black, braided hair, tied at the back of his head with a piece of leather. That alone would have made anyone else look like a hippie, but somehow seemed to suit him, making him look even more like what Bilbo could only describe as a battle-hardened warrior.

His limbs were thick and laden with firm muscle, but long, which didn’t make him seem as beefy as Dwalin was, but obviously just as strong, if not stronger. He had a long hooked nose, strongly defined cheekbones and chin and strangely enough, Bilbo found himself noting that his icy blue eyes were exactly the same shade as the Arkenstone. A beautiful, bright blue... and how corny did _that_ sound? He felt himself wince at the thought.

The slap across his face when he didn’t respond straight away was enough to make him wince also.

“Why did you return the Arkenstone,” the man repeated.

“That was very rude, you know,” Bilbo found himself saying, unable to stay his tongue. The next hit was stronger, and his head snapped to the side. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he knew his lip had been split. “You could have at least said please,” to avoid yet another strike from the man, he continued on after a brief pause. ”I took it back from Smaug after he only paid me a tenth of what we agreed on.”

The man seemed to consider this. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why return it to us?”

Bilbo rolled his shoulders. “It’s yours, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t I return it?”

“Because you stole it!” one of the voices from the back bit the words out, Bilbo saw a flash of blonde hair move forward before he was restrained.

“Because someone _else_ wanted it, not me.”

He earned another hit at that from the tall man, a stronger one, his head snapepd back with the force and lolled to the side.

“How moralistic you are, for a _thief_ ,” the blonde spat the words out.

"Look," Bilbo lifted his head up again as the tall man spoke, "I get stealing it back from Smaug, he didn’t pay you what he promised- you were mad, you wanted to get even.” Bilbo gave a shrug to agree with him. “But why did you send it back to us? Why return it? You could have simply sold it, or kept it, or-"

“What am I gonna do with a multimillion dollar stone? Sit it on my bookshelf next to my collected works of Dickens? I don’t think so. You want an answer? How about I just don’t have any _use_ for a stone. I’m a simple person. I treasure company and good food and drink- not pretty, shiny trinkets. I steal because I’m good at it, I _like_ it. It’s what I’ve been doing all my life. I have no need for treasure. I’m not a... dragon.”

"That stone is no mere trinket,” Dwalin growled.

“Maybe not to you, but that’s all it is to me. I don’t need it, and seeing as I took it back I figured I might as well give it to its proper owners.”

“And that’s it?” Dwalin said.

“That’s the long and short of it," Bilbo tells him, "yeah.”

“And you expect us to believe that?” the blonde demanded, pushing forward once more. He was young, very young, and Bilbo assumed he was one of the nephews.

“Why would I lie? I see no point in delaying what you’d only beat out of me later. And if I was going to lie, why would I use such a stupid excuse?”

Bilbo gave a huff when he received no reply. He thought he was hiding his fear quite well, but his palms were sweating, his fingers were shaking, his heart was racing and he was trying desperately hard to not yank at the handcuffs in a panic. He could taste blood, feel his eye swelling.

“You know, I had to run because I stole that stupid stone back, and I had made quite a bit of progress on that front before you lot kidnapped me and dragged me all the way back to where I started.”

“Well, then let us help you with that- Smaug’ll never find you down here.”

 _Oh, you have got to be kidding me_. Bilbo fell back against the chair again. “Seriously? You’re gonna make me stay down here?”

“You’d be bloody and beaten already if you hadn’t have sent the stone back to us, so if I were you, I’d act grateful.”

“You won’t even release my hands?” He didn't bother saying he already _was_ bloody and beaten.

“You shouldn’t be untied.”

“Oh yes, of course," Bilbo remarked dryly, rolling his eyes. "Because I might just overpower you with my massive bulging muscles and somehow get out of here.”

Dwalin laughed openly at that. “Y’know, even if he is a runt and a burglar, I like him,” he gave Bilbo’s shoulder a friendly pat before moving to leave. They went up the stairs, turning off the light.

The basement door slammed closed, leaving him alone in the darkness.

“Son of a bitch.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a little lacklustre in the torture department- I've never been good with the gruesome stuff.


	9. "Just my luck,"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets a few visitors.

A small, shy man wearing a heavy, badly kitted jumper brought him down breakfast.

“Is it morning already?” Bilbo groaned when he was gently tapped awake.

“It’s ten thirty,” the man was shuffling in front of him. “I have food for you.”

Bilbo wanted to rub the sleep from his eyes, but when he tried to move his hands, he remembered that they were cuffed. “How am I supposed to eat when I can’t use my hands?”

“I’ll help you,” the man knelt in front of him and spooned some cereal, “Thorin told me you weren’t to be released at all,” he offered the spoon, and with a sigh Bilbo opened his mouth. “I’m, uh, Ori, by the way,” he said as Bilbo chewed. “I just thought I’d tell you, being the one who’s feeding you like a baby and all.”

“Bilbo,” he replied, “but you already knew that.”

“Oh, we all know you. We’re all real impressed.”

Bilbo snorted. “So impressed that I’ve got a black eye and a swollen lip.”

Ori looked down, embarrassed. “You’re lucky, you know,” he said as he scooped up another dollop of cereal. “He’s never sent food down to any of the others he’s had down here.”

Bilbo blinked. “He doesn’t?”

“I think it’s sort of part of the torture. But he wanted you fed. He also told Oin to come down later and check your face.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” he groused in reply.

“I’m not sure myself,” Ori admitted. “He’s never been this nice to a prisoner before.”

They fell into silence, Ori spooning food into his mouth and Bilbo eagerly swallowing it down.

 “You don’t come down here often, then?” Bilbo asked eventually, liking the sound of conversation. It was a nice distraction from where he was. “Chat up the prisoners?”

Ori smiled, tentatively. “Not really, no. You seem to be handling it well, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“How else am I supposed to handle it?” Bilbo tried to shrug but his shoulders were aching from sleeping with his arms in such an odd position for so long. “I doubt sniveling is going to help me now, I’m a Baggins, of Bag End. And Bagginses do not snivel.”

“Bag End?”

“It was the house I used to live in as a child.”

“Before your parents died?” Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the boy, and Ori shrugged casually. “I did a background check on you,” he informed Bilbo, seemingly sheepish. “I made a file on your history for Thorin.”

“Huh. Impressive.”

“Well,” Ori had the grace to look demurred, “I’ve been working with computers since I was young, so...”

“And how long have you been working for a mob family?”

“Well, they’re _my_ family. Thorin’s a distant cousin. For as long as I’ve known we’ve been with them, and...” Ori shook his head suddenly. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”

“Well, it’s nothing I couldn’t find out by looking at a family tree.”

“I suppose so...” he spooned some more into Bilbo’s mouth. “Did you really get in through a window?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone’s been wondering about how you did it- not just how you got in, but how you could get upstairs, and into a locked room, and then into the safe.” Ori looked like he wanted to ask more, but didn’t speak.

“You can talk some more, you know. I’m sort of lacking in company down here, so...”

“Oh,” Ori gave another smile, “Well, why’d you send the stone back?”

“Because I’m not a completely selfish person- anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m really quite nice.”

“But you stole it-”

“Because I was hired to: I didn’t just wake up one day and go ‘hey, I really feel like pissing the Durin’s off today, how can, I do that? Hmm, I’ve got it! I can steal the single most important heirloom they have!’. Someone else wanted it, someone else approached me, and I accepted the commission.”

“So, if one of us had approached you to steal something- you’d do it?”

“I choose my projects very carefully. I don’t like putting myself in unnecessary danger. I only accepted this particular project because it was a challenge," he paused before adding: "I like challenges.”

“Well, you’ve got yourself into a bit of trouble with this one, you have,” Ori put another scoop of food into his mouth.

“I have,” Bilbo murmured as he chewed. “Hopefully I don’t end the week buried in a ditch somewhere, or encased in cement under some building site.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be alright,” Ori admitted, and Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “You told them what they wanted- and if he wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“I would?”

“Sure! In fact, I think he likes you.”

“Likes me? He did this to my face!” Bilbo would have pointed if his hands weren’t behind his back.

“Fili told me Dwalin said he liked you.”

“He said he thought I was funny,” Bilbo remarked now.

“Well, Dwalin’s a really good judge of character, so if he thinks you’re alright, then you’re alright.”

“Then why am I still locked away in a basement?”

“I’m sure things’ll work out soon. You seem like a nice enough guy,” Ori got to his feet. “I’d better go- but it was nice talking.”

“Yeah, sure, see you later if I’m alive next time you come down.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Thorin’s angry, but I think he’s also impressed.”

“Well, that’s just what I need- impressing a mob boss.” But it might be enough to keep him alive, so he was going to hold onto that. “Hey, wait,” he called after him as he began to leave. “How did you find me?”

“Pure luck,” Ori turned back to him and gave a shrug. “We sent your picture to all our people to keep a look-out for you. You just happened to walk into one of the inns Thorin still owns in that area.”

Bilbo remembered the strange look the tired-man had given him when he’d entered. “Just my luck,” he uttered to himself as the door closed, locking him in silence and dark again.

 

* * *

 

Oin came in soon after, like Ori had said, and had looked at his split lip and aching face. He didn’t speak at all, leaving Bilbo to wonder if the rest of the family were really as impressed as Ori had led him to believe. His face was wiped down, along with his now chaffed wrists, and Oin slathered a cold, minty smelling salve all over them. He put some sort of small bandage over his lip.

He left without a word.

Bilbo was tired, the stinging on his face and hands was painful, so he fell back asleep in an effort to distract himself and pass some time.

He was jolted awake some time later by the shutting of the basement door. A youngish man with gold hair and a thick scar across his cheek came into view. He looked very similar to the young boy that had been in here the other night.

 _Must be his father._ Bilbo thought to himself.

He didn’t speak straight away, instead he walked further into the room, leaning against a table straight across from him.

“Hello,” the man smiled brightly, “I’m Finch,” BIlbo just looked at the man with suspicion. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here to see the burglar.”

“Right,” Bilbo said slowly.

“Everyone’s been talking about you, you see. My sons and Dwalin and Ori and I thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about,” he cocked his head to the side, studying him. “You look like a doll,” he announced eventually.

“I’m sorry?” Bilbo repeated.

“Yeah: a doll. You know, it’s the curly hair and the smooth looking skin and the big eyes. You look like a doll. You remind me a bit of Ori, actually. He's all small and delicate looking, too.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Finch grinned. “Well, it’s probably why Dwalin didn’t hit you. I see Thorin made up for that, though.” He nodded at Bilbo’s face.

“He would have hit me more if I hadn’t of told him what he wanted.”

“And why did you tell him what he wanted?”

“Because I didn’t really feel like getting pummeled,” Bilbo remarks lightheratedly.

Finch laughed again, throwing his head back. It was a friendly, warm sound. Bilbo would have enjoyed it if he wasn't bound in a mobsters basement. “Good reason.”

“I thought so, too.”

“I see why Dwalin likes you. Ori, too,” he checked his watch and pushed himself off the table. “I’d better go- dinner with the wife,” he gave a shrug. “Good chat.”

Bilbo's not entirely sure what's going on.

 

 


	10. The Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets an opportunity to win his freedom,

Over the next few days Bilbo had a number of visitors, Ori came in and fed him breakfast, lunch and dinner (and took him to the bathroom when he needed it), Oin checked on his wounds and every now and again, another curious member of the family would peek down the stairs to get a look at him, but they only stayed on the stairs, simply looking. The only ones who ventured into the room further were Fili and Kili, had returned a few times, accompanying Ori.

After a few short conversations and a joke or two, the boys warmed up to him significantly, and were even offering to talk to Thorin about removing his handcuffs when he ate.

Bilbo enjoyed the conversations, and found himself sharing stories of his old jobs, of the people he’d met and the places he’d been and of the trouble he’d gotten into. The boys listened on eagerly, seeming to thoroughly enjoy his tales. They always moaned and whined when Ori said they should go back upstairs, lest someone realized they’d been too long and come down to drag them back.

Bilbo didn’t like it when they left either, because it meant he’d be alone again, sitting in a dark room with only his mind for company. He’d never really been around many people, having grown up on his own he was used to his solitary ways, but these past few days, with the company of the others, Bilbo found himself aching for more conversation, more human contact, which was something he wasn’t used to wanting or needing.

It was strange that after all this time he’d found companionship whilst being tied in a basement, it was even stranger that the companionship he’d found was with the family that was responsible for keeping him tied in a basement.

He shouldn’t like these people; he shouldn’t feel comfortable with them. He should be angry and hostile and kicking and screaming every chance he got. But he didn’t _want_ to be angry or hostile. He wanted a cup of tea, a warm bed, and a little more conversation.

Ori had taken to sneaking some of the hot beverage down with the breakfast to help ease one of those wants, and his kind words eased the other, but there wasn’t much he could do about the bed problem.

Thorin had come to see him twice since the other day. He’d barely spoken, barely stayed for longer than a minute, and each time he’d moved Bilbo had flinched. It seemed sort of irrational, but it was an instant reaction, a response from his body telling him he was in danger. The others hadn’t hit him, but Thorin had. It had only been three times, but Bilbo couldn’t help it. His mind kept replaying the stinging blows against his face and he couldn't get it out of his head.

He wasn’t sure if he liked Thorin.

Or maybe he did (though Bilbo felt loath to admit it).

But liking him didn’t mean the same as feeling safe around him.

He kept track of the days by how many times he’d had breakfast- so far, he’d eaten six times with Ori. Nearly a week, then.

He wondered how long he’d be stuck down here. How long he’d be stuck to this chair, stuck in this cold room. He hadn’t seen sunlight in such a long time, and Bilbo wondered how he’d react to it hitting his face again... if he ever got out, that is.

Bilbo had been thinking these morose thoughts when Dwalin and Finch had come to see him late one night. Ori had left hours ago, having helped him eat dinner, and Fili and Kili had informed him that they’d overheard Thorin telling Dwalin something about taking to Bilbo later.

“How much do you know about Smaug?” was the first thing out of Dwalin’s mouth. “About who he is, what he does, that sort of thing.”

“Not much,” Bilbo admitted. “I found some information in my background check, but I couldn’t find a lot. I’d thought he might be a dirty politician, or another mob leader, but I couldn’t be sure, I got next to nothing on him.”

“That’s because his real name isn’t actually Smaug. It’s just a title he goes by.”

“Who is he really? I mean, do you know who he is?”

Finch looked at Dwalin, who gave a curt nod. “His real name is Apollo Belindo,” Finch told him.

“But we know him as the massive pain in the arse that’s been bothering us for the past year.” Dwalin finished.

“Who is he?”

“We think he’s the son of a man that out old leader Thrain burned a long time ago- and that he’s out to get his revenge.”

“He’s well in over his head, though," snorted Dwalin. "He’s a rookie, though. Doesn’t have a clue as to what he’s doing- he’s sent men after us: untrained, hired guns. They obviously haven’t gotten very far. But he’s been getting better, his attempts are getting sharper.”

Bilbo frowned, confused. “What are you telling me this for?”

“Because we want your help,” Finch told him.

“ _My_ help?”

“You’re skilled. Not just in stealing, but also at strategic thinking. It took a lot to get in here, getting past security guards, cameras, locked doors, a safe. And then just waltzing out with your prize. You've got a creative flair we need.”

“And you want me to do what exactly?”

“Help us take down Smaug and we’ll let you go. No torture, no killing, you’ll be free to return home.”

“And why would I help you? I mean, apart from winning my life. Not that that’s not a nice little incentive on its own.”

“Because if Smaug is out the way: you can go home.” Finch gave a smile. “You wouldn’t have to run.”

That _was_ a good argument, Bilbo had to admit.

“And you wouldn’t keep me down here?”

Finch threw his arms wide. “You’d be out of the shackles and back in the sunlight.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh. “Fine, I’m in. _Obviously._ ”

Finch didn’t react much to the answer, he already knew Bilbo would say yes, but a relieved expression flickered over Dwalin’s face and he moved to take off his handcuffs.

Only just managing to repress a loud groan of relief when his hands were suddenly free, Bilbo moved his arms about a bit, trying to alleviate the stiffness in them, and got to his feet.

“Well,” Finch slapped his back with a wide smile, “welcome to the company, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Apollo means ‘destroyer’ and Belindo is said to mean dragon. I looked for something that might sound a little better, but I got lazy so I just stuck with this.


	11. Adjusting

The first thing he did was shower.

When such a trivial thing is taken away from you for so long, it becomes heaven, and Bilbo delighted in the hot jets of water running through his hair and cascading over his dirty skin. He scrubbed very inch of himself until he was red, staying in there longer than he should have, but who gave a damn when the water was _so good_.

When they’d taken him from the hotel, they’d taken his bag as well, which was helpful, and he rifled through it once he was done in the bathroom, finding a change of clothes.

He caught sight of his wrists once more as he buttoned up his shirt. They were red and tender from being previously restraining. He wiggled his fingers, watching the tendons in his hands move.

“Well,” he murmured to himself, inspecting his reflection in the mirror, “at least I’m out of the basement.” Bilbo made his way to the bedroom door and stopped in front of it, trying to control his erratic heartbeat. He heaved a sigh, fingers curling around the door handle. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Kili was waiting for him down the hall. “Baggins! Our Burglar!”

“Are we using that as an affectionate term now?” Bilbo wondered, coming to a stop in front of him.

“Of course we are, you are _our_ burglar now, after all.”

“I suppose so.”

“Come on, Ori’s making tea downstairs,” the thought of a nice hot cup of tea that he could hold in his own hands and drink by himself had him salivating, and he eagerly followed Kili down the stairs and into the kitchen. His gaze flitted briefly to the basement as they passed by it, but he kept his mind on thoughts of tea and a comfortable chair.

The kitchen was empty, save for Ori and Fili, and Bilbo had asked why the house seemed so empty when he was certain there were, in fact, many people living here.

“They’ve been asked to not crowd you these next few days.” Fili explained as he took a seat. “So you can settle in and affiliate yourself with everyone in your own time.”

“Oh. Right,” Ori set a pot down in the centre of the table and went about grabbing some mugs. “Well...” Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say, “This is nice.”

“Aren’t you glad we kept your bag, Bilbo?” Kili wondered, with an eager smile. “Thorin was going to ditch it, burn it or something, but I told him we should keep it.”

Bilbo felt his stomach tighten slightly. If Thorin was intending on getting rid of his things, that meant he _wasn’t_ intending on Bilbo leaving that basement. The brothers must have noticed Bilbo’s reaction, because they both broke into excuses, talking over each other.

“Its fine,” Bilbo cut them off with a forced smile. “Thank you for saving my bag,” he fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt, flattening wrinkles with his fingers “It’s a nice thing, having something of my own to change into.”

Kili’s lips stretched into a relieved smile.

“Now,” Bilbo clapped his hands together, “let’s have some tea, shall we?”

Kili hovered, following him almost everywhere he went, and Bilbo was only given a moment’s peace when he stood out the back of the house and Fili dragged his brother back inside with excuses Bilbo didn’t bother listening to.

He chuckled to himself and sat on the grass, enjoying what was left of the fading sun. He was bone weary, and expecting to be asked very, very soon what his amazing plan was for getting rid of Smaug. He tried to think of one, but without much information on him, Bilbo wouldn’t really be able to come up with a plan. He decided he’d ask for information tomorrow. Or tonight, if he was taken to Thorin. He was really hoping he’d just be able to talk to Dwalin or Finch and could avoid Thorin for the remainder of his time here.

Though that was childish and unreasonable and obviously not going to happen. But a man could dream.

 

* * *

 

He got to meet a few of the others at dinner, coming in and out of the kitchen, seeming very busy, but he knew one person without any introduction whatsoever.

“Bofur," Bilbo said flatly.

The man gave him a small smile, sheepish and cautious in his movements. “Hello.”

“So you brought me down here?”Bilbo demanded.

Bofur gave a small nod. “That’s right. I tried to be gentle and all, I didn’t want to have to hurt you... not that that makes anything better, but...”

“No, it’s okay. Kind of, anyway,” Bilbo found himself wanting to make the other man feel better. “You were just doing your job, right? And I _did_ steal the Arkenstone and all.” Bofur let out a laugh filled with relief.

“Right. Yes. Uh,” he gestured to the man beside him. “This is my brother Bifur.”

“Hello,” the man said something in that same strange language Bilbo had heard when he’d first arrive to steal the Arkenstone.

“He says hello back,” Bofur assured him, leading his brother to a seat in the kitchen. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?” He seemed suddenly so unsure of himself.

“Well, of course you can! You’re more than welcome; it is your kitchen after all, not mine.”

“We just weren’t sure if we were bothering you. I was going to talk to you earlier today, but everyone wanted to make sure you were comfortable before we bombarded you with names and information.”

“I appreciate it,” Bilbo took a seat as he replied. “It’s a very nice place,” he looked around him. “More fancy than any other place I’ve ever stayed in.”

“It is very nice,” agreed Bofur. “Fits us all nicely, too.”

Partway through the meal (spaghetti- Fili said it was his specialty, and Kili informed him that ‘specialty’ meant it was the only thing Fili could cook without setting the oven on fire), Bifur started rambling in that strange language, eliciting snickers from Fili and Kili.

“What is he saying?” Bilbo asked Bofur, winding some pasta around his fork and eating it. Bofur gave him a small smile.

“He’s just wondering where the term ‘cry your eyes out’ came from,” he explained. “He says it sounds a bit gruesome.” Bilbo frowned.

“Really?”

“Just ignore him,” Fili said now. “He has part of a bullet still lodged in his brain and takes a lot of pills for the pain. They make him a little,” he moved around theatrically, acting out-of-it.

“What language is he speaking?” he asked, though what he really wanted to say was _‘a bullet?! Why is there a bullet lodged in his brain? How is the even still_ alive _?!’_ But he thought that a little rude.

“Huh? Oh, that’s Khuzdul. It’s an ancient language passed down through the family. Not many people know it anymore, so it’s good to when we think we’re being eavesdropped on.”

“Oh." Bilbo didn't quite know what to say about that.

“Bifur doesn’t know English,” Bofur explained gently, “he forgot a lot when he was shot. He only speaks Khuzdul now.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Course not. He just copped one on the head when a job went south. Got him into the hospital and they said they’d removed most of the bullet, but they could damage the brain if they went in any further. And the bullet wasn’t gonna kill him, so we decided we’d rather it in there than him dying on the operating table.”

“You aren’t afraid it’s going to... move and kill him?”

“The doctor said that a incredibly improbable.”

“My,” Bilbo breathed now. “And there was no bodily damage? I mean, he’s still... you know...”

“Functioning properly?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way, but-”

“He can move everything, if that’s what you mean, though he does have a little trouble sometimes with his fine motor skills. He used to carve, but he can’t do that anymore.”

“What did he used to carve?”

“Anything he could, really. He’d make these tiny little wooden sculptures for birthdays.”

“I’ve still got heaps of them,” Kili added, “up in my bedroom. Lined them all up against my table and everything,” Bofur grinned.

“Good.”

“Oh, he was really good Bilbo,” Kili’s eyes had lit up, “ _Really fucking_ _good._ ”

“I believe you,” Bilbo informed him.

They went back to eating, occasionally talking on some boring subject like the weather or traffic. Bilbo enjoyed the mundane feel of it. It was weird think in these situations that these people were responsible for most of the drug trade going on right now in the city: that they’d killed people before. That having a person being tortured in their basement was a normal, day-to-day thing for them.

They seemed so normal there, so _human_. Bilbo had never imagined them in such a way before, mainly because they were the Durin’s: a mafia family. But they were human and they had the capacity to be kind and compassionate and Bilbo was glad. They weren’t robots, after all. They _were_ people. They _did_ do people things.

Bilbo felt himself smile at that thought when he went to bed that night.

 

 


	12. A Little Bit of Anxiety

He asked Fili about the information on Smaug the next day.

“Maybe you could ask someone- Ori maybe? I don’t know if he’s the one I _should_ ask because he finds the information.”

“I can handle that for you. I’ll have you something by the end of the day.”

“Oh,” Bilbo relaxed and smiled. He wouldn’t have to talk to Thorin. “Thank you.”

There were more people in the kitchen today then there had been yesterday. Bilbo was introduced to three more people. There was Bombur, who seemed to be the family cook and who it also seemed was making it his life’s mission to stuff Bilbo’s face with food. There was Gloin, Oin’s brother and weapons expert. He spent a full half an hour proudly telling Bilbo about his collection of medieval weaponry and was promising to show him them when Fili suggested maybe he tone it down a bit.

Then there was Balin, who was quiet for most of the breakfast. Kili had told him later that Balin had been Thrain’s second hand man, and was something of an advisor to Thorin.

Bilbo, having been stuffed full of Bombur’s rather delicious food, pushed his plate away now, unable to eat another bite.

“Full, Mister Baggins?”

“You can just call me Bilbo, Ori,” he replied with a small smile.

“Oh, right. Of course,” Ori shook his head, as if to rattle the habit out, “Right.”

“And yes, I’m afraid I’ve had one too many of your delicious pancakes, Bombur.”

“Ah, come now, you can’t eat a little more?” Bombur waved the pan of freshly baked pancakes under his nose.

“No, really,” Bilbo pressed a hand to his stomach. ”If I eat anymore, I think I’ll burst.”

“Oh, that’d be interesting.” Gloin mused now, eyes glazing over, as if he were imagining it.

Bilbo felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Enough, Gloin,” Kili reached over the table and smacked him on the arm. “You’ll worry Mister Baggins! We don’t want him running off anywhere, do we?”

“No,” Gloin ran a hand over his beard, “of course not.”

Bilbo just fiddled with the handle on his mug.

 

* * *

 

Kili showed him the library before lunchtime. It was a big room, filled with bookcases and warm looking chairs and a wide window on the far wall. Books took up every spare space; they were piled on the floor, on the chairs, on the windowsill. Bilbo felt an awed look pass over his face and he looked about him in wonder.

“This is amazing!”

“I thought you’d like it,” Kili said with a grin.

“How did you get so many?”

“It just sort of happened over time. Most of the family loves reading, so it just sort of grew.”

“You’re not too fond of reading, then?”

“It’s alright,” Kili gave a shrug. “I’ve never been as keen on it as the others, though,” he fiddled with the fraying seams on a chair now. “Are you liking it here so far?”

“Yes, everyone’s been quite nice.”

“Only, we want to make you feel comfortable.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you, Kili. You’ve all been very kind, especially considering-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Kili waved a hand. “You gave it back, and Dwalin told everyone that you didn’t want to keep it for yourself anyway.  Besides, any man who jilts Smaug is a friend of mine.” Bilbo smiled. “And you’re helping us," Kili went on, "so...”

“Though I don’t have much of a choice in that, do I?”

Kili looked disheartened, and looked down at his feet. “Well... no, but maybe after a while you’ll warm up to the idea and the rest of us won’t seem so bad...”

Bilbo had opened his mouth to reply, but the library door opened and Fili came in, waving a file about. “Found you," he said with a smile. "I got that information you asked me for this morning- Ori made a copy.”

“Oh, thank you,” he glanced between the two boys. “I’d better take a look at it now,” he left the room, only just hearing Fili ask his brother what was wrong. He tried not to feel guilty.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo spent his afternoon locked in his room; going over Smaug’s files, trying to think of some way to get at him. Money would be the first port of call. Cut off his funds. They could wire the money through into some dirty sort of project so the police would trace it back to him.

He supposed he couldn’t really decide on a proper course of action until he spoke to the others and found out exactly what they wanted. Did they want to bankrupt him? Blackmail him into stopping? Or were they planning on doing something a little more... definite.

Though Bilbo wanted Smaug out of the way as much as the Durin’s did, he didn’t want to take part in something that would result in the death of another person.

There was a soft knock on the door and a second later Finch peered inside. “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure,” Bilbo set the file down and stretched. “What did you need?”

“Just thought I’d come and check on our favourite burglar. You’ve been locked in here for a good few hours now.”

“I’ve just been looking through all this,” Bilbo gestured to the papers scattered around him. “To be honest, I don’t quite know what I should be doing...” he admitted. “I mean, what do you want me to do?”

“Well, if you come up with any ideas you can tell us- but we don’t expect you to head the whole thing or anything like that. We just think you’d be useful to have around.”

“To help where I can?”

“Well, a master burglar is always useful, aren’t they?”

“I suppose so.”

“Kili tells me you’re still uncomfortable, which I get,” Finch added me quickly, putting a hand up, “I mean, we did kidnap you and keep you in our basement for a good week.”

Bilbo rubbed his arm shyly. “Everyone’s been very kind, though. Regardless of the whole being tied up thing.”

Finch gave a grin much similar to his son Kili’s. “Why don’t you take a break from the reading and go downstairs? It’s a nice afternoon and Fili and Kili are out in the garden.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” he slid off the bed and got to his feet as he spoke.

Finch’s phone buzzed. “Oh, that’s Gloin- I’ve got to take this, sorry.”

“No, that’s fine.” Bilbo left Finch in the hallway and went to the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea and peering out the door to the back garden.

“Bilbo!” Fili was the first to see him and waved him over, “Come out!”

“Just a minute,” he finished making his drink before moving outside and taking a seat beside the two boys. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes. We’re just waiting for some news back about an assignment, so things are a little quiet.”

“Assignment?”

“Gloin. Guns.”

“Oh,” Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say in reply to that.

 

* * *

 

Finch was standing in Thorin’s study, hands crossed over his chest, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“You watch him quite a lot,” he commented, watching Thorin as he stood at the window, looking down onto the garden where Bilbo sat with Fili and Kili now.

Thorin looked back over his shoulder at his brother-in-law.

“What?” Finch gave a shrug, “I’m just saying. Everyone’s been thinking the same thing since you first told Ori to give him breakfast.”

Finch watched in amusement as Thorin’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s useful to us, and he’s not going to play ball unless we treat him right.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” Finch put up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I wasn’t implying anything else. It’s just strange to see you offer such a kindness to a prisoner.”

Thorin gave a roll of his eyes. “Is there a reason you came up here?” he wanted to know.

“Yes. Gloin called me to tell me that that shipment of guns has finally arrived. He’ll be distributing them to the others now.”

“Good,” they fell into silence. “Is that all?”

“Yes," Finch remarked innocently.

“Then you can leave.”

“You know, if you weren’t so frowny all the time he might actually like you,” he said over his shoulder as he left.

Thorin scowled as the door closed behind him and looked out the window again.

 

 


	13. Wherein we meet the Trolls

Bofur burst into the kitchen while Bombur was making dinner. “We have a problem.”

“A problem?”

“Where’s Thorin?” Bofur demanded.

“Upstairs, of course,” he bounded off, leaving Fili to call after him: “Wait- what was the problem?!”

“Should we go after him?” Bombur asked, setting a pot down.

“If Thorin yells, I suggest we stay down here.”

Thorin did, indeed, yell. It was so loud and sudden that they all jumped.

“Well, that can’t be good," Bilbo murmured.

Bofur returned pretty quickly, gasping for breath, his face pale. “Call Balin and Dwalin,” he huffed, “tell them to get back as soon as possible.”

“What’s happened?” Fili demanded.

“Gloin was attacked while dealing the guns, they’ve been stolen.”

A roar of outrage shot up through the room, and Bilbo had trouble discerning one yell from another. It just seemed like a garble to words to him, along with a hell of a lot of swearing.

Oin entered now, taking stock of the chaos erupting and his hands started to move rapidly. Kili signed back at him, explaining the situation, and Oin’s eyes widened and he made a strange strangled noise.

“He’s alright, he’s in the hospital.” Kili moved his hands again. “ _Hospital_ ,” he said slowly as he signed the word. “I’ll call Dwalin now,” he informed the others, grabbing his phone and heading out the door.

“Do you know who did it?” Bilbo asked, his voice quiet.

He was surprised Bofur had heard him. The others fell silent, looking at him for an answer. “Gloin recognized them. It’s those three goons again- the Trollshaws,” an oath was muttered by someone across the table.

“Trollshaws?” Bilbo had never heard that name before.

“They’re low-scale thieves,” Fili explained to him before glancing over at is father. “Though you’d think they’d be smart enough to stay off our radar.” He looked highly unimpressed.

“Clearly they’re not,” Finch replied.

“I called Gerry on my way here and told her,” Bofur informed them all now. “Dis was visiting so she's taking her and little Gimli to the hospital to see him.”

“So, you’re going to go find them now?”

Finch grinned. “You’re coming with us.”

“I am?” Bilbo squeaked.

“Of course: couldn’t do without our Master Burglar, could we?”

“I... I’d only get in the way,” Bilbo manages.

“Nonsense, you’ll be right.”

“Where is everyone?” Thorin’s voice rang out, silencing the whole company. He stalked into the kitchen.

“Balin and Dwalin are on their way,” Kili pushed past him and into the kitchen, putting his phone into his pocket.

“Ori’s working on getting their address now,” Thorin said, “he’ll be done soon enough.”

Bilbo fell as silent and as still as he could, as if that would prevent the man from noticing him.

“We leave as soon as Balin and Dwalin get here,” Thorin ordered gruffly.

Bilbo tried to ignore the strange feeling that fluttered through his stomach and along his chest when Thorin’s eyes flickered over him. The trouble was, it was rather hard to ignore. The trouble was, if Thorin wasn’t a mob boss, he’d be exactly the kind of guy Bilbo would go for. The trouble was, despite being afraid of him, Bilbo felt a very a strong, disturbing, drawing attraction to the man.

And that certainly wasn’t good.

 

* * *

 

It was getting dark by the time they all piled into an old, rattling van and started moving. Bilbo watched as the others slipped on gloves and chattered quietly. While the bumped along the road, passing by shops and restaurants and clubs all lighting up for the night, Bofur got a message from Dis saying that Gloin had stabilised.

Bilbo felt relief course through him. He hadn’t known Gloin long, and though he was weird Bilbo liked the man anyway and was glad he was alright for now. By the relief on Oin's face when someone signed the message to him, Bilbo could see Gloin's older brother was just as thankful.

Bombur stopped down the road from their destination, cutting the engine.

They all piled out and stood on the corner of the pathway, cold air hitting them. Bilbo breathed out, watching the white puff that formed in front of his mouth, and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Ori,” Thorin said now to the boy, still sitting in the car, pulling out his laptop, “cut the power to the house now.” With a small nod, Ori set to work. “Nori, Dori, you go round the back with Finch. Bifur,” Thorin switched back to that strange language (Khuzdul, Bilbo remembered Fili telling him), and the only other word he got was ‘Oin’. “Bofur,” Thorin switched back to English now, “Dwalin, Balin, you three come with me. Bombur, you keep the car going. The Burglar can stay out here with Kili.”

“But, Uncle-!”

“I will not hear any excuses; you’re still too young to do this. You can keep guard.”

Though Bilbo was happy he didn’t have to go in, he found it a little condescending that he was put in the same category as a twenty year old. He was almost ten years older than Kili! He could take care of himself: hold his own. He would have said something, but Thorin turned on his heel after that, leading the others down the street and leaving Kili and Bilbo there, pouting.

Kili muttered something in Khuzdul, which Bilbo was sure had some sort of rude meaning.

“It’s not all that bad,” Ori said now as he typed. “There’s less danger out there.”

“It’s okay for you, isn’t it? You’re the computer guy. You don’t have to go in there. It’s different for me. _I’m_ supposed to be in there,” he jerked a thumb to his chest.

“Stop complaining and message Thorin saying I’m about to cut the lights.”

Kili grumbled, but took out his phone and quickly typed the message in.

Ori hit one last button and the streetlights flickered. “It should be down now,” he peered out the van door and down the street.

Everything was quiet. Bilbo could barely hear a car in the distance or a dog barking.  “So is this what we do now?” he wondered. “Just stand here and wait?”

“Pretty much,” Bombur’s voice floated down to them from the front of the van. He moved peered out of the window at them, holding out a packet of biscuits. “Anyone fancy a chocolate HobNob?”

“You bought snacks?”

“I always bring snacks to a job.” He grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth now. “Gotta keep your stamina up.”

Bilbo laughed. “I like your priorities, Bombur.”

Bilbo heard a restless tapping and turned to find Ori’s fingers drilling over the side of the van. “Something’s wrong,” he said now, concern laced in his expression.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo looked down the quiet street, finding no sign of anything that might have gone wrong. There was no yelling, no gunshots: no sounds of struggle or of anything being broken.

“Nori promised to send me a quick message when they got in.” Ori checked his watch. “They shouldn’t have taken this long. They should be in by now. I should have gotten my message.” He opened his phone again, anxious.

“Maybe he forgot?”

“He wouldn’t forget.” Ori seemed offended that Bilbo had even suggested it. “He _never_ forgets.”

“You really think something’s happened?” He looked over at Kili, who seemed just as concerned.

Ori was frowning in the direction of the house. “I don’t know.”

“We have to go check it out,” Kili announced immediately after.

“Thorin told us to stay here...” Bombur murmured half-heartedly.

“Then you stay here, but I’m going in. Bilbo, are you coming?”

“Well... what if they’re fine? Do you really think something bad has happened?”

“Nori has never missed sending Ori a message on any task we’ve ever been on," Kili told him.

“Never?” ge asked.

“Never,” Ori answered.

Bilbo swallowed. “Alright,” he breathed. “Let’s go,” Kili needed no more prodding, and set off in the direction of the house.

“Take this with you,” Bombur handed him his phone. “Ori’s in my contacts. Just in case,”

“Thanks,” Bilbo put it in his pocket and ran after Kili. “This is such a bad idea,” he muttered as they turned the corner and found the dark house the others had gone into.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the trolls technically don't preview in this chapter- but it was getting too long so I cut it a bit short.


	14. Bilbo to the rescue

They reached the house, climbing over the gate and around the side, looking for any sign of the others. When they heard noises they slowed, and rounded the corner, finding a bright light shining through the back window. He could hear voices, but could not discern what was being said.

They crouched underneath the frame and Kili straightened slightly to get a look through the window.

“Are they in there?” Bilbo asked now.

“They are! They’re tied up!”

His shoulders sagged. “Great, just great.”

“We have to help them,” Kili moved to run towards the back door.

“Stop!” He hissed, grabbing hold of Kili’s arm. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“We can’t just run in their like that, they’ll grab us, too.”

“Well, I won’t just stand out here and-”

“I didn’t say we were going to. Give me a minute; we need some sort of plan.”

Kili seemed irritated, but crouched down again, giving Bilbo some time.

“Okay, okay,” Bilbo tried to think, “tell me something: where are they?”

“I suppose it’s a living room,” he scoffed. “Hardly looks liveable, though.”

“Can you see the kitchen from there?”

“No, why are we looking for the kitchen?”

“Because there’ll be weapons in a kitchen.”

“Oh, yes.” Kili‘s face lit up with realization. He peered into the room again. “I can’t see it from here.”

“Good. That means that they can’t either. Let’s go around the other side of the house and try to find the kitchen window.”

They felt their way around the house, Kili peering up through each window they passed, until finally Kili came to a stop. “Found it!”

“Anyone in there?” Bilbo wanted to know.

Kili shook his head. “No, it’s dark.”

“Alright, go in as quiet as you can.”

Kili pushed the window open and pulled himself inside, crawling over the counter and onto the ground. He knocked a plate with his foot, giving them both a heart attack, but managed to catch it before he hit the ground.

Bilbo gave Kili a severe look that clearly told him he would be yelling if he could. Instead, he pulled himself inside.

They crouched in the darkness for a minute, taking in their surroundings, before beginning to move. Kili walked over to the kitchen island, yanking open a drawer and shuffling through it was quietly as he could.

Bilbo watched the shadow of his hands move in the darkness. “Find anything we could use?”

“There’s this,” Kili held up a meat tenderiser and Bilbo winced, imagining _that_ connecting with his head.

“...Yep, that’ll work.” He frowned now, a bright red flash of colour catching his eyes now. “Is that a fire extinguisher?”

“What kind of person has a fire extinguisher in their kitchen?” Kili said, brow furrowing.

“A person who cares about safety,” as the words fell from his mouth, an idea dawned on him. With wide eyes and a grin he looked up at the roof. Smoke alarms.

“Bilbo? You alright?”

“I just had an idea,” he spun about, looking about the room for something that would help him. He found a magazine thrown onto the counter. “That’ll do,” he grabbed it and rolled it up, rushing over to the oven.

“...Bilbo?”

“Hide behind the kitchen door when the smoke alarm goes off. When someone comes through it, you hit them over the head.” He turned on the element, wedging the magazine into it, watching it catch alight.

Smoke billowed out, reaching the roof.

“Oh. _Oh_!” Kili rushed to the door, only just  catching on to what was happenening, and hid behind it and when the alarm began to trill loudly through the house, Bilbo rushed around the island counter and got down on his knees, hiding.

“Bert, what the hell is that?” A voice called out now.

“It’s the smoke alarm, Tom.”

“I know it’s the smoke alarm you idiot, why is it going off?!”

“Did yer leave the oven on again, Bert?”

“Of course I fucking didn’t, William! Why the hell would I?”

“It’s not like anyone leaves an oven alight on _purpose_. Just go and check it, Bert, for Christ’s sake!”

Footsteps neared the kitchen and the door flicked open, revealing a very tall, very fat, very _ugly_ man who trolloped through. He saw the magazine alight and swore, rushing towards it.

Kili came out of his spot now, rushing up behind the man and smacking him over the head with the tenderizer. The sound of metal clunking on flesh and bone made Bilbo feel a bit ill, and he watched from his hiding place as the man fell to the ground with a very loud _thump_.

Bilbo got to his feet and rushed to the oven, grabbing the end of the magazine and pulling it out while he still could, throwing it into the sink. He'd rather not let the whole place set alite when he was in the middle of staging a rescue operation.

He ran the tap, dousing the now-ashy magazine, while Kili hastily tied Bert’s hands and feet together with washcloths. Finally, the smoke alarm ceased to beep, and BIlbo thanked his ears for that.

“Let’s get him in the pantry,” he flicked the oven off as he spoke. They struggled with the large man, pushing him into the small pantry, and forcing the door closed behind him.

“God, what are they feeding this guy?” Kili groaned as they leaned against the door.

Bilbo pushed away from it and moved to the other side of the kitchen, pulling the fire extinguisher off of the wall now.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“I don’t know, but it’d be one hell of a distraction, right?”

Kili snickered at him. “See? And you thought you wouldn’t be useful.”

“Bert?” one of the others called out, and Bilbo and Kili peered out the kitchen door, finding no one in the hall.

“Go around the house, sneak in on the other side. I’ll distract them and draw them out of the room and you can go help the others.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t give me a chance to change my mind, Kili,” he pushed the other towards the other door. He hid in the closet in the hall, closing the door just in time to hear the other man pass by. The kitchen door swung open and closed.

“William,” the man called out now, “he’s not in there.”

“What do you mean he’s _not in there_ , Tom?” William bellowed.

“I _mean_ he’s not in here,” Tom replied, walking back down the hall. Bilbo pushed the door open and peered out, watching as Tom disappeared around the corners. He snuck after him.

At the corner of the hall he stopped and slowly looked around the corner, finding the view he’d seen from outside. The two big Trollshaw men stood in the middle of the room, and the other bloke (the one that wasn’t Tom- William) reached down, grabbing hold of Dwalin and yanking him to his feet. William was so big he made _Dwalin_ look short, and that was saying something.

He pressed the knife to Dwalin’s neck. “What happened to my brother?”

“I don’t know,” Dwalin grunted.

“Who’s in here?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin repeated.

“ _Who’s in here_ and what have they done with our brother?”

Fili saw him first. He’d only glanced in the direction fleetingly, but when he caught sight of Bilbo his eyes widened, and his gaze flitted away in a rush as to not draw attention to where Bilbo was watching from.

Bilbo slunk backwards a bit more, deliberately hitting the heavy metal extinguisher against the wall.

Silence. Then he heard a thump and assumed it was the man dropping Dwalin ungracefully onto the ground.

“Tom-”

“I’ve got it,” he rounded the corner and caught sight of Bilbo, calling out and running towards him. Bilbo lifted the fire extinguisher he still held, angled the nozzle and set it off, spraying the chemical mixture into the man’s face.

Bilbo didn’t really need to do much more; Tom was spluttering and staggering, arms waving about, and he tripped over himself, smacking his head into the wall and knocking himself out.

“Oh,” Bilbo said as he looked at the giant on the floor now. _That was easy..._

He heard yelling from the other room now and rushed down the hall, finding that Kili had run into the room before Bilbo had been able to distract the third man.

Fili was struggling desperately against his bindings, they all were, but if someone didn’t do something _now_ , then Kili was more than likely going to get killed.

Kili ducked, only just narrowly missing the knife that would have been plunged into his skull. He was already bleeding from his arm and cheek. William struck him and he fell onto his back, kicking his legs out to stop the man getting any closer. It wasn’t working.

He stood over him, knife raised, and swung down to stab him.

At the same time Bilbo ran towards them, swinging up the extinguisher and smacking him full in the face, sending him backwards and onto the floor in pain, blood spurting from his nose.

In the long, deafening silence that came after, Bilbo waited, still as a statue, to see if the man would move, and when he didn’t he sighed in relief.

“Thank God,” he turned to Kili now, who was still on the floor, his face white, blood running down his face and mingling with sweat. “Are you alright?”

Kili nodded frantically, scrambling to his feet. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Bilbo waited until he was standing before smacking him against the back of the head.

“What was that for?” Kili whined.

“I thought I told you to wait until I got both of them out of the room!”

“I-I-”

“Just get us untied, would you?” Balin grunted, wriggling about. The ropes were wound tightly around their bodies, their hands and legs immobilized.

“You look like worms,” Kili laughed now. It was a choked sound.

“Well, we’d better hurry- these ones might wake up soon and I’d hate for them to not be tied up when they do.”

Kili moved about, slicing the rope off of the members of the company.

“Where are the others?” Dwalin wanted to know. “Ori, Bombur?”

“Back at the van,” replied Kili, kneeling down and working at Fili’s ropes now.

“I swear once I’m out of these ropes I’m going to hit you myself, Kili.” Fili told his brother as his bindings were cut.

“That was a good distraction, boys.” Dwalin said, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.

“Oh, it was all Bilbo’s idea.” Kili bragged, grinning. “He set the smoke alarm off in the kitchen to distract the other one- and he was the one who told me to come in from the other room.”

“Yes, well, I am a burglar, aren’t I? There is a significant amount of planning involved in that particular profession.”

“He’s right,” Nori said now, looking proud. “We thieves do a lot of thinking.”

“I doubt _you_ do any thinking, Nori.” Fili muttered.

“I’m glad we’ve got you on our side, then, Burglar.” Dwalin grinned and set about restraining a still-unconscious William. “I’d hate to be _your_ adversary.”

“I’ll get the other one,” Nori helped Dori up and looked about the room. “Where’s the first?”

“We shoved him in the pantry cupboard.”

Bofur let out a roar of laughter at that, smacking his thigh in amusement. “Nice work. I’ll help you, Nori,” they went down the hallway now.

“Move them all into the living room,” Thorin said as Kili freed him. “Balin,” he nodded at the other man, “have a look for the weapons.”

“What even happened anyway?” Bilbo asked, looking at Dori as everybody about them began to move. “There were only three of them and nearly _ten_ of you.”

“We tripped an alarm getting into the backyard." Dori replied. "They were expecting us."

Not too soon after, the three Trollshaws were dragged into the living room, unconscious, side-by-side on the ground.

“Should we just leave them?”

Thorin was frowning down at them, considering it when Balin came into the room.

“I think I found something!” they left the men there and followed him through the room and crowded about a thin, ratty door. “Look at _this_ ,” Balin breathed, pushing the door open further. There were the weapons alright. That and more.

All kinds of things were stuffed in the room. Axes and knives and massive guns and grenades and even a bazooka. Then there were the boxes filled to the brim with all different kinds of jewellery and cash.

“Jesus,” Dwalin said as they looked at the room, his eyes glittering.

Nori’s face lit up. “This is great! It’s like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped up in one!”

Dori held his brother back, one hand fisted in his shirt to keep him in place. “Boss?” he asked.

Thorin heaved a sigh. “Take it, go on. But only what you can carry- I’m not doing more than one trip and we really don’t need to be seen walking down a dark street with a bloody _bazooka_.”

Bilbo was almost pushed into the wall with the force that the others rushed past him. He would have definitely been bowled over if someone hadn’t of grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He turned to find Thorin, who still had a tight grip on his arm.

“Uh... thanks,” he pulled away quickly, stumbling back. This was followed by an awkward moment of silence before Thorin muttered some excuse and moved to help the others. Bilbo watched them collect the guns and boxes and soon enough they all had their arms full.

“Would you mind carrying this for me, Bilbo?” Fili nodded to the second box in his arms. At least he thought it was Fili, the boxes he held were stacked so high he couldn’t actually _see_ him.

“Alright,” Bilbo pulled it away and found that he was, indeed, talking to Fili.

“Hey, uh, thanks for helping Kili out,” he added, eyes solemn. “He tends to rush into things and he would have gotten really hurt if you hadn’t of-”

“Don’t mention it. Anyone would have done the same.”

Fili smiled softly and shook his head. “Nah, they wouldn’t have.”

“Alright,” Thorin’s loud voice shot through the whole house. “Let’s get a move on.”

Bilbo gave Fili and smile and followed the others out the door and down the road, towards the van, ready to go home and get some sleep. Although the Durin mansion wasn’t his home. No, his home was empty and waiting for him to return, but he couldn’t just yet.

Bu he thought, with a smile, that the Durin house wasn’t a bad temporary-home.

He watched Ori jump out of the van and all-but tackle his brothers to the ground and felt a strange sense of family that he’d never had before, and that was nice.

 

 


	15. Introducing: Dis.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favourite sister finally gets to meet Bilbo.

There was a lot of drinking and throwing food and singing and celebrating when they got back, even more so when Bofur got a call saying Gloin would be out of the hospital the next day. A loud cheer erupted around the table and bottles were smashed together in a toast.

“I still say we shoulda killed ‘em,” Nori hiccupped into his drink.

“This is better,” Finch told him. “They live, so there’s no bodies to deal with, and they can’t report the theft because how are they going to explain that hundreds of weapons and stolen jewellery were in their house?”

“I suppose,” Nori suddenly perked up. “Hey!” he threw an arm around Bilbo and raised his drink, “To our Burglar!”

“To our Burglar!” he got a few heavy slaps and on the back and one gently but particularly shocking one across his cheek from Balin.

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the others drank around him, spilling alcohol onto their clothes and over the table and floor. “I think I need a little more space,” he said no, fairly quiet, and moved to slip off his chair.

“Here,” Finch grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the table. “Come out into the hallway.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. They like you,” Finch added with a smile now as they left the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“They like anyone who saves their hide. Naturally.”

Bilbo can't help but smile a litle. “Of course,” he agrees.

“Bilbo!” he turned to find Kili moving up to him. “Where are you going? We only just started celebrating.”

“I’m pretty tired, Kili, I was thinking of going to bed.”

“It’s not even midnight yet, though. I’m still buzzing from our rescue!”

“I’m afraid I just get tired after an experience like that.” Jittery, and then lethargic.

“Oh, well, I guess you need your sleep and all...” he trailed off, eyes catching something over Bilbo’s shoulder. “Uncle Thorin!”

Bilbo felt himself stiffen at the sound of his name and turned to see Thorin coming down the hall.

“Hello, Kili, Finch,” he gave a nod of his head, “Bilbo.”

“We did real good today, huh, Uncle?” Kili threw an arm over Bilbo’s shoulders now. Bilbo just looked up shyly at Thorin, who did something Bilbo had never seen before.

He smiled, which looked rather odd on his face, but nice. He looked less menacing, and more like an actual human. “You did good, Kili.” he gave his nephew a small pat on the back and then walked off.

The smile that spread across Kili’s face was heart warming.

“I suppose he’s not often one for words of encouragement, then?” Bilbo asked.

Finch snickered as they watched Thorin turn around the corner. “He’s not one for words at all,” he replied.

“I can tell.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Kili explained. “We’re having troubles with some other groups.”

“Gorkil and his fucking goblins,” Finch said, making a face. “They’ve been staging attacks on some of our businesses, Thorin’s been working on finally getting rid of them. But we have no idea where their operations are being run from, so we’re not really able to cut off the head, so to speak.”

Bilbo thought that the theoretical cutting of heads was probably highly likely to be aced out in real life (though he didn’t mention it).

Instead he took his leave and went to bed, dreaming that night about trolls and goblins.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was fairly quiet. Probably because everyone was sleeping off their hangovers and it was still quite early. He’d gotten changed and gone down the stairs, making his way to the kitchen for some toast and a cup of tea, when he ran head-on into Finch’s back. “Oh, Finch, I’m sorry!” he laughed now.

“It’s alright, Bilbo. I’m fine, are you?”

Bilbo rubbed his slightly sore nose. “I’m fine,” he gave a smile, noticing the figure behind Finch. “Who is this?”

“Oh,” Finch stepped aside to reveal the person. “Bilbo, this is my lovely wife Dis.”

She certainly was lovely. Tall and elegant with long black hair and the same bright blue eyes her brother had. She had the same shaped nose, though its size was a little smaller, and the same wry, curved lips. Her head was held high in pride and Bilbo thought in that moment that she seemed a fearsome thing to behold.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bilbo,” her voice was kind and soft, though he was sure it could be frightening when used in the right situations. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” she took his hand in her firm grip and shook it. “Thank you for looking after my boys. I’m afraid Thorin doesn’t always think things through with them. He seems to forget they’re still boys and not soldiers.”

“Oh, uh, it’s alright,” he wasn’t sure what else to say. “They’re great boys.”

Dis’ smile widened. “Now I know you're lying," she said at the same time Finch commented: ' _They take after their mother._ ' Dis turned to her husband, eyebrow raised, and Finch laughed, and Bilbo found himself laughing too.

“We have to go talk to Thorin now,” Dis informed him, still smiling softly, “but it was lovely meeting you.”

“You, too,” he watched them leave.

Dis, it seemed, was scarier than her brother, mainly because she was silent in her power.

Thorin exuded it: it rolled off him in waves in his stance and his walk and his stare and in his words.

Dis, however, could seem perfectly harmless at times, which Bilbo thought was a far more dangerous quality to be skilled in.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was frowning at his computer when Dis pushed inside, not bothering to knock, Finch following close behind.

“If anyone else did that, you know, I’d have their hides.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not anyone else, then.”

Thorin heaved a sigh, turning his attention to his sister. “What did you need?”

“I just thought I’d tell you that I’ll be meeting with those officers we’re paying off in two hours. I’ve already arranged the money transfer with Ori.”

“Good.”

“Also, Dain called me- they’re running low on ammo.”

“We’ll be shipping them some of we got back from the Trollshaws in a few days.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him next time he calls.”

“I can call him now,” Finch said, pulling out his mobile, “I wanted to see how my cousin’s doing with his new job up there anyway.”

“I trust you’re not going to get my boys killed while I’m away?” she asked as Finch exited the room.

“You’ll only be gone for a few hours.”

“And?”

“And we’re going to be _in_ the house the entire time.”

Dis simply gave a shrug, as if to say ‘so what?’. “My point remains,”  she said.

“They’re old enough to decide whether or not they want to come with me on assignments, Dis. I look after them as best I can but they’re adults, they’ve got to look after themselves, too.”

“Fili is twenty-three and Kili only just turned twenty-”

“And we were doing the exact same thing at their age. This is how it works.”

“Just keep an eye on them.”

“Don’t I always?”

She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, tapping the toe of her shoe against the floor. “I met your Burglar just a moment ago,” she said at last and Thorin just grave a grunt, turning his attention to the papers on his desk. “He’s rather cute. Certainly your type.” The resulting glare she got from her brother made her grin. “You’re thinking it too, don’t deny it.”

“I am thinking no such thing,” Thorin denied.

“Oh, please. Finch told me you’ve been staring at him every chance you get. Why don’t you just-”

“What? He’s essentially our captive, Dis; I’m not going to jump on him like some sort of crazed animal. I may be head of a mafia family but even _I_ have morals and a conscience.”

“I wasn’t implying you hurt the man. But maybe if you were a little more approachable he might actually _let_ you into his pants. Ever think of that?”

“We are not having this conversation.”

“Oh, we are.” She braced her arms against his table. “We really are, _right now_.”

“I’m a little busy-”

“The other’s have managed to make him feel welcome, and if I hear you’re making him uncomfortable it’ll be your arse on the line, Thorin. Just smile every once in a while: it isn’t hard. You know, you move your lips upward and bare your teeth in a non-threatening way. You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”

They glared at each other for a few minutes until Finch returned.

“Dain said that... uh... should I leave again?”

“No, honey, of course not,” Dis straightened. “I was just giving my brother some much needed advice.” She turned on her heel to leave, “I’ll leave you to your work.”

Thorin silently cursed his meddling family and tried to concentrate on his papers.

 

 


	16. A Bit of a Problem: AKA Nori gets into trouble (Part 1)

 Bilbo spoke to Thorin about Smaug for the first time. He wasn’t dragged into Thorin’s office or anything like he’d imagined, he’d simply mentioned it in the kitchen at dinner and Thorin had replied instead of Bofur.

“...but you say that he hasn’t been very successful in his attempts,” Bilbo was saying now.

“He may not be doing very well, but he is getting better. Soon enough he’ll be an actual threat, he proved that with you.”

“Well, maybe that showed he’s getting creative, but that doesn’t mean he’s getting _better_ \- he just hired someone with skill. It was luck.”

“Perhaps he's not getting better, but if he can find you he can find someone else that’s good, a hired gun who might kill one of us. I won’t take that risk.”

“Fine, fine,” Bilbo put his hands up. “I get your point.”

Thorin opened his mouth to continue but Dwalin came into the room, face flushed with anger.

“What is it?” Thorin asked.

“We have a problem. Nori’s been causing trouble down at the local and the police have been called.”

“Alright, Fili come with me and Dwalin, Bofur, I need you to find Dori and Ori and tell them.”

“Can’t I come too?” Kili wanted to know.

Thorin paused, looking like he didn’t want to say yes.

“Bilbo can come too, to look after me," Kili grabbed Bilbo's shirtsleeve as he spoke. "He’ll keep me on my best behaviour, right, Bilbo?”

“Uh... yeah, sure,” Bilbo said, scratching his head.

Thorin sighed, resigned, and got to his feet. “Fine, come on.”

“By ‘in trouble’ does that mean Nori’s been pick-pocketing again?” Bilbo asked as they got into the car.

“Yeah,” Dwalin sighed.

“But he’s really good at it, isn’t it? Hardly ever gets caught?” Nori had been bragging as such anyway.

“He gets very bad at it when he’s drunk,” Dwalin replied gruffly.

“Oh.”

They arrived at their destination pretty quickly, parking around the corner form the pub and piled out of the car.

“We have to get him out before the cops arrive.”

“And if the cops are already there?”

“Then there’s not much we can do for him tonight.”

The cops weren’t there, thankfully enough, and Thorin dealt with the pub owner while Fili and Kili picked Nori up off the bar and dragged him towards the front door.

“Come on, let’s get a move on.”

They all exited the pub now, turning to go towards the car, but Fili and Kili froze all of a sudden and Bilbo collided with them. “What the hell?” he demanded.

“Oh, shit. The coppers are here-”

“Act natural-”

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” The officers had already caught sight of them. One must have recognized Nori.

“Hey you!” the officer yelled. “You lot, wait!”

“What do we do?”

“Run?”

“Run!” Even Nori, who was still drunk beyond recognition, didn’t need to be told twice. They took off down the darkened street, in the opposite direction of the car, police yelling out after them.

“The more time passes the more officers they’ll get in the search-” Finch was yelling, “we have to get off the road _now_.”

“We have to get to the car!”

“You want to go back there, Dwalin? Go right ahead, be my fucking guest!”

They could hear the officers running behind them, and somewhere not too far away sirens started to whistle. Kili let out a breathless curse as they rounded the corner.

“This isn’t going to work.” A police dog started barking somewhere nearby and they turned quickly down another road, trying to as far away as possible.

“We have to split up!” Half of the group immediately tore away from the other, tearing down the corner.

“Fili!” Kili skidded to a stop, spinning round to look for his brother, who’d turned with the other group. “No!”

“We have to run!” Dwalin grabbed Kili’s shirtfront and pulled him along with him. “He’ll be fine, Kili, he’s with Finch and Thorin.” But Kili seemed physically pained to be separated from his brother.

They ran for a little while longer before Bilbo’s chest was starting to burn so bad he could hardly breathe. They hid in an alley, gasping for breath.

“What do we do now?” Kili gasped.

Bilbo tried to think. “Who has the keys to the car?” he asked.

“Thorin.”

He swore. “Okay, how far are we to the tube, then?”

“There’s a station not too far away, but the cops’ll be watching it by now.”

“You need to take off that jacket,” he ordered Kili.

Kili glanced down at it. “What, why?”

“Because it’s bright fucking red, Kili. The cops would have seen it. Find a tramp and give it to him or throw it in a bin, I don’t care.” he looked at Dwalin’s extremely distinct tattooed knuckles and head. “We need something to cover your head,”

“Are we really going for the tube?”

“I’m going for the tube; you lot are going to find a cab. There’s a club down the road there so you shouldn’t be too hard-up on finding one. But cover your damn head first.”

“You’re leaving?

“We have to split up. Besides, I’ll probably be safer than you because Dwalin’s really...-” what kind of word was appropriate to use? “- _distinct_ ,”

“But you-you’ll meet us back at the house, right?” Kili had a vulnerable, wide-eyed look on his face.

“Of course; where else would I go?”

Kili looked relieved. “No, sorry, right.”

“Alright, I’ll see you too later. And remember: cover your head.” He walked out of the alley and crossed the road, walking in the direction of the station. He had wallet on him, so that wasn’t a problem. He turned the corner and the bright underground sign he saw down the end of the street egged him on.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Bilbo turned to find an officer waving him down. “Can I help you?” he asked, keepinh casual.

“You don’t mind if I ask: where are you’re coming from?”

“I was having a drink at that club down the road, the shoddy looking one. Dreadful it is, so I decided I’d call it a night. I’ve got work in the morning anyway.”

The officer frowned. “Do you have any ID on you, sir?”

“Sure.” He pulled out his wallet. “Has something happened?”

“Just some folks were recognised as criminals not too far from here, we’re just checking to be safe.”

“Oh, of course: go right ahead,” he handed him his drivers licence.

“And where do you work sir?”

“I work part-time at Gandalf’s Computer Repair, there’s a card in here if you want to-”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” the man looked from his ID picture to him.

“Well, we do cut price rates for anyone who works in the emergency services.”

“Oh, do you?” the officer raised his eyebrows, interest piquing.

“Yeah, the owner’s brother was a copper.”

“Oh, well, thanks for that. I’ll uh, give ‘em a ring sometime if I ever need anything fixes. Gandalf, you said?”

“Yeah, he’s the best in the city.”

“Odd name,” the officer remarked.

“Family name,” Bilbo said before beginning to walk away.

But the officer called out for him. “Sir!”

He froze. “Yes?” he asked very quietly, slowly turning. But the officer was still wearing a smile, so he relaxed.

“Forgot your licence,” he held it out for Bilbo to take.

“Oh, thanks!” He took it from him, forcing a laugh. “Completely forgot.”

“You have a nice night.”

“You too.” His heart raced all the way down the stairs to the underground, and he finally managed to get his hands to stop shaking when he reached his platform.

 _Not something I want to repeat again_. He thought to himself now, waiting for his train.

He got a message from Kili sometime later after he’d boarded the train and was almost at his station.

_We got the cab back. No coppers stopped us or anything. Dwalin had to steal a beanie from a homeless guy though._

Bilbo laughed loudly, despite the fact that he was on a relatively crowded train, which earned him some odd looks.

The train pulled up at his station and he got off, swiping his Oyster Card and began to make his way back to Durin mansion. His phone went off again as he turned onto the street.

_Bilbo? Will you be back soon?_

He was about to type a reply when his phone rang, trilling loudly. He put it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Bilbo?”

“Kili? I was just about to text you back."

“Where are you?” Kili demanded.

“I’m on the street- why, is something wrong?”

“Oh,” there were muffled sounds on the other side of the phone. “Bofur’s coming down to meet you at the gate,” Kili said. “We were just a little worried- everyone’s back now.”

“The train was a little later than I thought it’d be, they don’t run as much at nights.”

“Right, of course. Alright, I’ll, uh, see you soon.”

“Okay.” He hung up and indeed was met by a wide-smiling Bofur at the gate.

“Well, look who it is! Off adventuring, were you?”

“Something like that,” Bilbo remarked.

“Kili was worried about you.” Bofur said as they walked up the drive way.

“Why?” Bilbo asked, brow furrowing.

“He thought you’d run.”

“Oh.” No wonder he’d reacted so oddly when Bilbo had said they should split up.

“You weren’t gonna?” Bofur asked, looking genuinely curious.

“Well, no,” Bilbo looked at him. “To be honest it actually never crossed my mind. I was more worried about someone recognizing Dwalin's head.”

Bofur burst into laughter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have had that Benny Hill song stuck in my head when I was writing the chasing bit.


	17. A Bit of a Problem: AKA Nori gets into trouble (Part 2)

Bombur made Bilbo a cup of tea as the others explained how they’d gotten away. Finch and Fili and ended up having to jump into the Thames so the dogs lost their scent and Thorin and Nori had climbed up onto someone’s roof and managed to shuffle their way back to the car.

Nori had gotten a proper chewing out from Thorin, apparently, when they’d gotten back, and had quickly gone to bed to sleep off his drunkenness.

The others dispersed quite quickly, going to bed or to do work, and soon it was only Bilbo, finishing his tea and Kili, who was anxiously picking at his shirtsleeves.

“Bofur told me you were worried I was going to run off,” Bilbo said now, turning to face him. Kili flushed.

“Well, sure. Everyone was. You should have seen Fili’s face when he found out you weren’t with us.”

“I’m helping you take Smaug, down, Kili; of course I’m not going to run away. We have a common goal to achieve, we need to work together. Besides, we’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“We are, and... well, I was going to ask you if maybe... you’d consider... staying when this is all over?” Kili was looking at his feet, his words tentative. “I mean, we all like you a lot, and I have to say I consider you a very good friend of mine now, and it would be such a pity if you were to just leave and we were to never see you again when this was all done with.”

“Kili,” Bilbo sighed.

“I know you said in the library that you didn’t have much of a choice in being here, but we all really like you and its nice having someone new around...”

“Kili,” he put his hands on his shoulders now, “I’m not running away anywhere, I promise. And if you want to keep in contact after this is over we can still keep in contact: you can come over any time you like.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Bilbo assured him.

“And Fili too, right? Because he won’t say it but he was just as worried as I was about you going and-”

“Fili too,” Bilbo promised. Kili gave him that same wide smile he’d seen him give to Thorin a few days ago when he’d complimented him. “It’s late,” he heaved a sigh. “I’m going to go to bed.”

He climbed the stairs, yawning sleepily, and walked towards his room. Thoughts of his warm bed rolled around his mind when a noise alerted him to someone else’s presence.

“Bilbo,” he jumped spinning around to find Thorin standing outside his study door. He clutched his chest, letting out a relieved breath, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. Thorin came over to him now. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Bilbo lowered his hand from his chest. “You did give me a bit of a fright, though.” He looked up at Thorin, who didn’t reply “Did you, uh, need something?”

“No, no.”

“Right, well, I’ll uh... I’m just going to go to bed...” Bilo gestured vaguely behind him.

“Wait,” he stopped, looking back at Thorin over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I just meant to ask...”

“Yes?” Bilbo prodded.

“You came back,” Thorin said finally.

“I did," Bilbo replied, nodding.

Thorin looked confused. “Why?” he demanded.

“Well, because we’re working together now. We have an agreement,” sort of a forced agreement on his side, but that didn’t matter, “and the whole point of me being here is to prove to you that I shouldn’t be killed, and I’ve yet to do that-”

“You’ve more than done that already- you’ve saved our lives and you’re becoming increasingly useful.”

Bilbo felt himself flush. “Well, even if I did consider leaving, there’s nowhere I could have gone where you lot couldn’t have found me, isn’t there?”

Thorin’s mouth twisted slightly into a smile. “I suppose not,” he remarked.

“Can I go to bed now, or is there something else?”

“No, no, you’re fine to go. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Bilbo went to his room, forcing himself to keep looking forward and not glance back to see if Thorin was still there.

If he had of looked back, though, he would have seen Thorin watch him right until he went into his room and closed his door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and a little bit more progression on the Thilbo front.


	18. The Great Goblin King (Part 1)

“Hey, Burglar!” Bilbo still hadn’t decided whether he’d liked the affectionate name or not.

“Hello, Nori.”

“You mind if I sit?” he was trying keep his cigarette in his mouth while talking.

Bilbo glanced at the chair next to him in the garden. “Sure, if you’d like,” he waved a hand at it and his companion took a seat.

“Haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to you much,” Nori said, exhaling a large puff of smoke. “But I figure we should be talking heaps, y’know?”

“Why is that?”

“Well, one thief to another, y’get what I mean?”

“Oh. Yes. I heard you were a thief as well.”

“I’m more into pick-pocketing though,” Nori pushed his spiked hair out of his face. “The easy stuff. You bump into a lad on the street, reach into his pocket and take out his wallet. Then you part ways and he’s none the wiser. I like that.”

“It’s simple.”

“Exactly: it’s got none of that fancy stuff going on. No offense.”

“None taken,” Bilbo assured him.

“If you want something to work you plan simple. The more complicated it gets the harder it makes it to get out of if you need to.”

“I agree entirely: the simpler the better.”

Nori grinned at him.

“What is your other brother in charge of?” Bilbo wondered.

“Dori? Oh, he’s sort of... I suppose you could say marketing.”

“Marketing?”

“Yeah, you know, promoting and selling services to people.”

“What sort of things?” Bilbo had a bit of an idea already.

“All sorts of things.”

Bilbo laughed at himself now.

“What is it?” Nori asked.

“I just keep forgetting you people are the mafia. But every now and again you guys say something and my brain reminds me that not a week ago I was in your basement and it was very likely I would have been killed.”

Nori looked a little guilty. “But you know we wouldn’t do that now, right? You’re part of the group,” he punched Bilbo’s shoulder playfully, and Bilbo began to wonder if being part of the group was such a good thing. He’d always kept his crimes pretty low scale. But getting involved with the _mafia_ was a big thing. Once you’re in you could never get out.

Then again, Bilbo didn’t have much of a choice, did he?

Nori looked concerned. “Are you alright, Bilbo?”

“I’ll be fine,” he pressed a hand into his stomach. “Just feeling a little woozy, is all.”

“I could call Dori if you’d like, he can makes some tea. He loves playing mother hen. He’s sort of had to be, after our parents died.”

“No, I’m fine, thank you Nori,” he paused. “What happened to your parents?”

“Oh, they were killed in a police raid.”

“The police shot them?”

“Mum had a gun. Dad was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

Nori waved it off. “Ah, it’s alright- it was a long time ago. These things happen, especially in this kind of world.”

“I guess so. But that doesn’t mean it’s not sad.”

“You’re very nice, Mister Bilbo,” Nori said with a smile. “Always letting us annoying you and drag you around.”

“I don’t mind. It’s quite nice, really. I grew up by myself and always wanted brothers and sisters annoying me. So I guess you could say this is making up for it now.”

Nori laughed nasally. “Well, then I’ll be sure to keep on annoying you, then.”

 

* * *

 

It was around midday when he was making his way to the library again, thinking about having a look through all those books when a voice called out for him in the hallway. He stopped, turning to find Fili running towards him.

"Has something happened?"

“What? Oh no, nothing's wrong, if that's what you mean,” he waved it off.

“What is it, Fili?”

“We’re going to pick up some stuff in the van- some of us were wondering if you wanted to come along.”

 _Anything to get out of this house_. Bilbo felt so cooped up when he was here. At least in his own home he  could leave when he wanted to go and get a drink or visit someone he knew or just nip out if he ran out of teabags but he didn’t know if he could do that here. Would they think he was running away? Would he need someone to go with him? Would he be allowed to go at all? He hadn’t worked up enough courage to ask someone yet, lest they think him stupid. And Bilbo was certainly not stupid.

“I’d love to come,” Bilbo replied with a relieved sigh.

Turns out a few people were going. Bombur was taking up the entire back row, and informed Bilbo that he’d brought a picnic for afterwards.

“You make trips out of these things?” he’d asked when he’d been told of their plans.

“It’s nice being able to get out of the city for a day- even if we’re only going a few hours away.”

Ori was there as well, looking very absorbed in something on his phone. His back was extremely straight, however, and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice him throw a glance at Dwalin every now and again, who was sitting next to him, looking just as tense and uncomfortable.

Fili and Kili were there, obviously, sitting either side of him and talking his ear off about God knows what. Bofur was signing to Oin, probably asking about Gloin, who had been home recovering with his wife and child for a few days now.

Thorin was in the passenger seat, talking quietly to Finch who was driving.

“So what are we picking up?” Bilbo asked as they drove.

“A few boxes of things,” Fili replied with a shrug, “We weren’t expecting them until next week but Dori got a call yesterday night about them arriving early, so we set up a drop spot.”

“So you go in, take the boxes and leave?”

“Nori and Dori are going to drop off the money once we send them the word when we get there.”

“Efficient,” Bilbo remarked, though he hardly expected anything else.

They drove for some time, enough to leave Bilbo yawning and his body aching. They finally pulled up, and Bilbo was eager to get out of the car and stretch his legs. “Where are we?” he asked, stretching his arms above his head.

“We’re in Rutland. Some Nature Reserve."

“There’s an old, disused cottage through the trees somewhere- it’s where we’re meeting.”

Bilbo waited for the others to crawl out of the van and followed them down the pathway and through the trees.

After a few minutes of walking they found the decrepit cabin. Its windows were broken the wood was rotting and breaking and it seemed an all round terribly place to wait in.

The inside was much worse. There was rubbish everywhere, the walls were covered in graffiti and had holes all through them. It certainly wasn’t pleasant.

The floorboards creaked loudly when they walked over them, hurting their ears. Bofur took a seat on an old, rusted lawn chair that someone must have brought in a long time ago.

“So how long do you think we’ll be waiting for?” Fili wondered, pulling open the doors of a broken cabinet that hung on the wall.

“He’ll be here soon.” Finch said. “He’s never made us wait before.” Bilbo peered out one of the windows and into the trees that surrounded them.

“You know this guy well, then?” Bilbo asked.

“Sure. Dealt with him for years.”

“So you’re comfortable being in such a vulnerable area?”

Thorin frowned as Bilbo spoke. “We’ve never had problems with him before.”

Bilbo gave a shrug. “Just curious. I’m sure things will go fine.”

But something he said seemed have to gotten Thorin thinking. “Finch, how did Dori get notified about the drop?”

“Same way we always do. Coded message,” Thorin ran a hand over his chin as Finch spoke. “Something wrong?”

“Something’s not right,” Thorin uttered.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo wanted t know.

Fili and Kili stopped exploring, turning to their Uncle as he spoke. “We weren't expecting this shipment to arrive for another week- and suddenly it just turns up? And since when do we get here before Gent’s men do? Someone should be here by now.”

Finch pales slightly. “We should leave. Right now.”

Bofur got to his feet, making his way to the door. “Quickly. Let’s get out of here.”

But before any of them could reach the door, the floor underneath them broke apart and Bilbo felt himself falling.

 

 


	19. The Great Goblin King (Part 2)

The ground was hard and cold and he was certain he broken his back during the fall. Or maybe that was just because Bombur had fallen on him. The men swarmed before they got a chance to react, grabbing their weapons and yanking them to their feet, grabbing their arms and holding them still: restraining them.

When they were all on their feet and had stopped struggling against the men, a booming voice shot out: jolly and smug.

“Well, look who it is! Thorin Durin, supreme ruler,” he stopped in front of Thorin and gave a theatrical bow.

He was big. Tall and fat and dirty with horribly oily hair, scars and pimples on his face and down his double chin, down his neck. His thick arms were like tree branches, thick and sort of stubby. The same went for his legs.

His face sort of went inwards, as if it had been hit with a frying pan.

His nose was long and flat, stretching across his face, his eyes were small and rather beady, and disturbingly close together on his head. His lips were long and thin and so pale that you could hardly tell they were there.

“Gorkil,” the name was said like it held a bad taste is Thorin’s mouth.

“So good to see you again, old friend,” Gorkil said, grinning. “I hear you’ve been looking for me for some time.”

“It has been a while, yes. I suppose I was looking for you in all the wrong places. I thought you only looked like a rodent, not lived like one.”

Gorkil growled at his words. “Such a way with words, Thorin: but you might want to watch your tongue. Because this time, _I’m_ the one with the weapons, and I might just cut your tongue out. Or perhaps,” he continued, strolling past him and eying down the other members of the group, “I should just remove one of the other’s tongues. You’d hate that much more, wouldn’t you?” he came to a stop in front of Bilbo. “And who is this?” he eyed Bilbo now, curious. “Lost tourist you picked up on the way?” he chuckled and reached out and grabbed Bilbo’s chin. “He’s pretty.”

“Leave him alone!” Kili shouted, “Keep your grubby hands off of him.”

“Oh my,” Gorkil laughed, hand falling away from Bilbo’s face. “Have I hit a nerve there? He actually spends his time with you lot? He looks hardly in place with you cretins.”

“You’ll leave him out of this, Gorkil- he’s no part of our feud.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Thorin. You see, anyone even slightly acquainted with you is automatically going to be part of our little feud: which means your little friend here is going to be caught in the crossfire whether you like it or not.”

Thorin gave no reply. He simply glowered.

“Did you like our little trap for you?" Gorkil went on. "I have to say it was rather smart, though I can’t take all the credit- I have a very smart friend you should be thanking for that. He was the one who knew what to write for your stupid code and he told me about this place,’ he gestured around him, “apparently it was dug out years ago- some sort of bunker or basement.”

“If you’re going to kill us do it now,” Dwalin cut in; “listening to you monologue is far worse. I’d ask you to just put us out of our misery.”

“You’re all always so cocky, aren’t you? Even now,” Gorkil crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “There’s a price on _your_ head, Thorin Durin,” he continued, very obviously delighting in the sound of his own voice, “and I think you know who’s called for it.”

“Azog has no way to connect me to anything.”

“So he’d rather play dirty and get us to do it for him. You’re a lot harder to defeat than your pathetic father was, so I think Azog’s willing to allow a little bit of behind-the-books action on this one. Besides, I’m not the only one who would benefit from you being out of the way.”

“You have help,” spat Finch now. “You couldn’t get this many men together on your own.”

“Why, thank you for noticing.” Gorkil smiled, showing off a row of missing teeth. “I’ve combined forces with another one of your very good friends. I think you might know him.”

“Smaug,” The word was said a growl, Thorin’s upper lip curling.

Gorkil laughed loudly now, clapping his hands together. “Well done!” he stood up, walking over to Finch and taking a knife from one of the other men. “Such a smart man, you are.” Gorkil sneered and without any further warning, he thrust his hand forward, plunging the knife deep into Finch’s stomach.

Kili screamed the same time Fili cried out, both of them thrashing, desperately trying to reach their father as he crumpled on the floor in pain. Gorkil laughed, his men joining in, and Bilbo watched, feeling helpless as crimson blood seeped out onto the ground, staining it.

If they didn’t do something Finch was going to bleed to death right there on the ground. He moved slowly, carefully, as they laughed, snagging hold of the gun on the man’s hip and swiping it out of the holster in one smooth movement.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” he yelled, ripping himself from the man’s grip. Thorin gladly used the diversion, knocking the man who restrained him to the ground, kneeling down to grab his weapons. Gorkil reached for Kili now, ready to use him as a hostage if necessary, but Bilbo raised the gun and shot him in the shoulder. Kili ducked, hands over head, when the shot rang out and Gorkil jerked backwards with the force of the bullet, stumbling over the ground and falling.

“Anybody else move and I swear to God you’ll be getting one between the eyes.” The men raised their hands and the others wriggled free, grabbing their weapons.

Fili ran to his father, Kili following, and they both collapsed in front of him, turning him over to see if he was still alive.

“Is he okay?” Bilbo asked.

“Its fine, it’s fine,” Finch was muttering, pressing a hand to his stomach. “Need to go now,” he groaned.

Gorkil, who was on the ground, clutching at his wounded shoulder, began to shuffle away as fast as he could, crawling on his hands and knees. “Make sure he doesn’t get away!” Bombur all but jumped on top of him, keeping him restrained with his weight.

“Get him to the hospital,” Thorin ordered, fishing into his pocket and pulling out the keys, “we’ll deal with the men.”

“I don’t think that-”

“There is no time to argue, take the keys, get Finch to the car and get him to the nearest hospital. Now, _now_!”

Bilbo shot to attention, snatching the keys up and climbing up back into the cabin, reaching down into the ditch for Finch’s hand.

He pulled at him and Fili and Kili pushed, trying to get him up. Finch clawed at the wood, very clearly beginning to lose consciousness. Bilbo hauled him forwards, onto what was left of the floor they’d fallen through, and helped him to his feet, throwing an arm over his shoulder and propping him up as Fili and Kili scrambled up.

He threw the keys at Fili as they ran as fast as they could through the trees. “You drive. I’d better put some pressure on this wound. Kili, do you have anything we can use as some sort of bandage?” Kili pulled his scarf off, handing it to Bilbo with shaking hands before opening the car door and helping his father into the back.

“Help me unbutton his shirt,” the car started noisily, spluttering and Fili pulled out of the park, turning onto the road.

“There’s a hospital not too far away, I think. Maybe five minutes,” Fili was muttering, pressing down hard on the accelerator.

Kili had gone white as a sheet and was just clutching at his father’s shirt, looking at all the blood spilling across his stomach and onto the car seat.

“Kili? Kili?” Bilbo reached out and shook him. “I need you to keep calm for me, okay?” Kili nodded frantically. Bilbo was frantically going over his first aid knowledge. “Finch?” Finch’s eyes flickered open a little.

“Mm?”

“Can you breathe properly?” his head rolled back, his eyes closing again. “Kili, check his mouth, make sure there’s no blood obstructing his breathing.”

Kili opened his father’s mouth, peering inside. “I can’t see any blood,” he said as Bilbo undid the last of Finch’s buttons, revealing the extent of the wound. Blood poured out freely now, coating Finch’s skin and Bilbo’s hands in a sticky red.

“Okay, you need to help me. I need you to put your scarf tightly against the wound and keep your hands pressed heavily onto it, okay? Try to stop the bleeding- but try not to touch the wound with your bare fingers- it might cause an infection.”

When Kili applied pressure Finch’s eyes shot open again and he cried out in pain, thrashing. Bilbo held his arms down.

“No! Finch, don’t move- it is imperative you stay still, okay?"

He coughed. “I’m cold,” he muttered, eyes glazed over.

“I know,” Bilbo took off his coat as he spoke, “but we’re almost at the hospital,” he set it over Finch’s shoulders, “so I need you to keep awake for me, okay? Just talk to me.”

“What did you want me to say?” Finch’s eyes were closing.

Bilbo shook him a little. “Dis,” he said now, “Dis, talk to me about Dis.”

He smiled at the name of his wife. “What about her?” he asked on a sigh.

“How’d you meet? Tell me how you met her.”

“She was lovely,” he breathed now. “It was so long ago, but I remember that. I saw her before she saw me,” his mouth fumbled up into a smile. “We rented a cafe from her dad. She came along with him one day to see how progress was going. She was looking at the muffins and I dropped a whole tray of cups. She hated me, said I was the most annoying man she’d ever me,” Finch laughed, but it was a weak sound and it came out choked. “She was lovely,” he breathed again, his eyes drooping closed.

“We’re here, we’re here!”

“Finch? _Finch_?!”

“Dad?!”

Fili screeched into the hospital parking lot, not bothering to stop the car, and kicked his door open, rushing out and yanking the one on Bilbo’s side. They carried him inside, Fili yelling for someone’s attention.

“Help, please help- he’s been stabbed. Please help,” the nurse rushed towards him, calling for the doctors, and Bilbo watched them take him to emergency. He looked down at his now-red hands. Kili all but collapsed onto one of the chairs in the waiting room, tears filling his eyes. Fili knelt in front of him; wrapping is arms around his brother’s body, now shaking with sobs, burying his head into his shoulder.

Bilbo felt numb.

 

 


	20. Goodbye, Friend

Finch was stable but in a critical condition, Bilbo sat on one side of the bed, watching Fili and Kili on the other, clutching their father’s arm, and occasionally brought soft words and hot coffee.

Thorin and the others arrived a few hours later, having dealt with Gorkil and his men. Bilbo didn’t ask what they’d done- he had a feeling he knew the answer to that- and instead moved off his chair and to the other side of the room so the others could crowd around Finch’s bed and watch him breathe slowly in sombre silence.

They’d stayed like that for another few hours, when Bombur announced they should at least try to eat something, and he, Bofur, Oin, Dwalin and Ori stood to go find where the cafeteria was. Bilbo followed them, leaving the boys and their Uncle to some privacy.

They didn’t eat. They just sat on the hard dining chairs and fiddled with the kids of their drinks.

“He has to be okay,” Bofur said now, for the thirtieth time. He seemed to be in a state of shock, his eyes wide and his head shaking back and forth- like he was unable to accept what he’d seen. What they’d all seen. “I mean, it’s _Finch_. He’s always okay. He has to be okay. For those boys and for Dis.”

Bombur gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I know, laddie, I know.”

Dwalin ran a palm over his chin; Ori ran his hands over the hard table, looking down.

“I think I need to walk,” Bilbo declared, standing up. “Excuse me,” he trailed down the corridors for some time, peering inside the different rooms, looking at the machines, at his feet, out the windows. He found Thorin sitting on a row of chair pressed against a corridor wall, some distance away from Finch’s room. Seems he wasn’t the only one who moved about when he was anxious.

“Thorin.”

“Bilbo.”

“What are you doing all the way over this side of the hospital?”

“Just needed to get out of that damn room,” he stretched his legs out in front of him, lines clearly evident around his eyes. “I did want to see you, though,” he said.

“You did?” Bilbo wondered.

“To say thank you,” Thorin expained.

“F-For what? For taking Finch here? Why wouldn’t I-”

“No, I didn’t mean that; though thank you for it anyway. I meant for pointing out that it was such an odd place to meet- I didn’t notice until then that it was nothing like something Gent would have chosen,” he ran a hand down his face, expression slipping into one of despair. “I should have noticed sooner...”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Bilbo took a seat beside him now, speaking in earnest. “The point is that you did notice, and the floor would have fallen out on us anyway, even if you’d noticed straight away.”

“But if I’d realized it when they suggested a place to meet-”

“Is it your job to singlehandedly coordinate every single thing?” Bilbo asked, cutting him off.

“That kind of is my job, yes.”

“No, it isn’t. You have Ori and Dori and Gloin and a bunch of other people all arranging and sorting out things for you because you can’t do it on your own. It’s not your fault and it’s not theirs. These things happen.”

Thorin was shaking his head. “You knew something was wrong, straight off the bat.”

“Well... it was normal for me to be suspicious, wasn’t it? I’d never met them before. You can’t be so overly paranoid all the time, even if you are a mob boss.”

“No one ever questions my choices,” Thorin was frowning at him. “I’ve known Dwalin and Balin all my life and they might tease me at times, but even they find it very hard to voice their doubts.”

“Oh, well, I...”

“I’m saying I’m glad you questioned me, Bilbo. I’m thanking you.”

Bilbo said nothing in return. He didn’t think it was right, being thanked when there was someone in critical condition in hospital. “Is Dis on her way?” he asked quietly now, and Thorin gave a nod.

“We called her a few minutes ago.”

“I’d better go and check on Fili and Kili. See if they need anything.”

Thorin gave a nod, running a hand through his hair. He looked so incredibly weary. It made him look much older. Bilbo just wanted to put his arms around him and offer comfort but he didn’t dare. Instead, he left him there with promised of bringing coffee back, and went in the direction of Finch’s room.

He reached the door and raised his hand to knock, but at the sound of raised voices he hesitated.

 “...he’ll get better,” Kili was saying now, “ _he will_. And we’ll all be here to help him. Thorin and Mum and the others and Bilbo-”

“Bilbo?” Fili repeated. “ _Bilbo_? You know what’s going to happen to Bilbo, Kili? When all is said and done and when Smaug is finally out of the way, when he can go home he’s going to leave us.” There was silence, and then a very quietly spoken denial from Kili. “He’s going to leave, Kili, you know he will.”

“He can’t leave.” Kili’s voice became a little bit more certain, but it was still wavering. “He promised he wouldn’t. He can’t leave because after everything that’s happened-”

Fili gave a scoffing laugh. “You really think he owes us anything?” his words were biting. “We _made_ him stay here, Kili. Helping us is the only way he’ll be able to go home and be left alone. He’ll leave when this is over.”

“Fili-”

“He’s not like us!” a brief pause, and then: “When this is over he’ll return to his nice little apartment with his nice comfortable reading chair and his books and he’ll go back to doing small time projects for people and he won’t want to see us again. Ever. And I don’t blame him,” Fili’s voice broke on the last word. “I mean, what kind of life is this? Do we really want to drag someone else into _this_?”

Kili said something else, but Bilbo couldn’t hear it, and suddenly Fili shouted. “Everything we touch _dies_!” his yell was hoarse and strangled, and then there were sobs filling the air, and the sound of Kili soothing his brother.

Bilbo moved away from the door after that, not wanting to intrude any more than he already had, and went to go get coffee and return to Thorin.

Finch died later that night, not an hour after Dis had arrived.

Bilbo locked himself in one of the bathrooms while Dis and her sons said their final goodbyes, and sobbed loudly into his hands.

He hadn’t felt so torn apart since his parents had died.

And then he remembered why he didn’t get too close to people, why he made excuses and distanced himself. Because when they left (and they would invariably leave) the pain would kill him. He remembered Finch’s blood all over his hands and his smile when he talked to him about Dis.

He shouldn’t have learnt anything about him; the familiarity had only served to make the pain worse.

But along with the pain was something he’d never really felt before- a burning passion to strangle whoever did this to him with their bare hands.

He didn’t know what happened to Gorkil, but he hoped it was long and painful and crippling. And he didn’t feel guilty at all for thinking it.

Smaug was responsible for doing this, just as much as Gorkil was. Smaug had planned this.

Finch was dead, and Smaug was responsible.

Bilbo felt a strong, foreign kind of rage swim through his body.

Smaug had come to regret screwing Bilbo over once, and now he was going to regret doing it again. This was the closest thing he had to a family, he realised now, and no one was going to take that was from him, especially not Smaug.

 

 


	21. A Funeral.

“What did you do to Gorkil?” Bilbo asked as they watched the coffin slowly being lowered into the ground.

Fili and Kili were on either side of their mother, holding both of her hands in their own, eyes downcast. Bilbo felt angry that such young boys were having to bury their father.

They should be worrying about final exams at university and girls, not getting gunned down by a rival group.

He remembered being their age, and felt even more distressed when he realized that when _he_ was twenty he’d only just started to live in an actually apartment- having only been off the streets for a few weeks.

The dingy flat he’d gotten was hardly a castle, but four walls and a bed was such an amazing prospect to him that it had felt like a castle at the time. His castle.

It seemed so unfair, for both the boys and him. What kind of world was this?

“I killed him,” Thorin replied almost straight away, his eyes not moving from the casket. He’d barely spoken these past few days, which wasn’t abnormal for him, but there was a weight to his silences which was new. Bilbo could see the pain in his eyes, even if it was well masked.

Bilbo sniffled. “Good,” he found himself replying. Thorin’s lips twitched into a brief smile, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

Bilbo reached out and patted his arm before realizing he was actually _touching_ him. He swiftly removed his hand, wondering when his mind had shifted from being scared of Thorin to wanting to touch him. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but the fact that it had happened at all scared him a little.

He glanced around at the others now.

Bofur had his hat off, clutching it n his hands to the front of his chest. He looked almost unrecognizable without it on. Next to him was Bombur, who was bowing his nose loudly into a handkerchief. Bifur was patting his back, muttering something in Khuzdul.

On the other side of the grave across from them was Balin, looking very weary, who hand his hand on Fili’s shoulder. Fili was unresponsive, just staring at the hole in the ground which now held his father. Dwalin was beside Kili, arm around the shoulders of Ori, who was sobbing into his hand. Dori held his youngest brother’s hand, making soothing noises and Nori was watching him, looking unsure of what to do.

Bilbo glanced at the space beside him now, seeing Gloin and Oin, neither making a sound, heads bowed in respect.

He thought about Finch, his friendly smile and kind words, and wondered what it would be like to have that gap in his life now, where Finch should be filling but wouldn’t be. He glanced at Fili and Kili once more, so much like their father, sadness now awash over their features.

Bilbo tried to ignore the painful throbbing in his chest.

 

* * *

 

No one really spoke much that afternoon. They all sat in the living room, drinking the lagers Bofur had handed out to everyone.

Dis left the room first, needing some time to herself. Much like her brother and her sons, she kept her face straight and devoid of emotion, though it was obvious she was struggling to remain that way.

They drank in silence.

Bilbo, feeling uncomfortable in the silence, quickly excused himself and made his way to the backyard, sitting and taking some enjoyment in the noise of cars and people in the distance.  It was too quiet inside, it seemed... unnatural.

He heard the backdoor creak open and footsteps crunch across the grass.

“Can I sit?”

Bilbo looked up and gave a small, welcoming smile. “Of course you can, Fili.”

“I just... uh,” he hesitated as he sat down, “needed to talk to someone.”

“What did you need?”

“Well... your dad died too, right?” Bilbo gave a nod. “When you were young?”

“I was thirteen.”

“Oh,” Fili obviously hadn’t realized he’d been so young. “I-I just... I mean...”

“You can ask whatever you want, Fili," Bilbo assured him, "really.”

He inhaled deeply, building up the words. “Is it always going to be like this? Does it get any better?” his voice cracked a little as he spoke.

“Yes and no.” There was no point lying to him, even if it might make him feel a little better. “You get used to the gap in your life- but it’s still there. It never goes away. But you’ll be able to deal with it, and you’ll have others around you to help you deal with it.”

“Did you have others?” Fili wanted to know.

“What was left of my family refused to take me in,” Bilbo gave a sad smile. “But I coped. You learn to deal with these things when they happen because you have to. The world goes on and you have to go on with it.”

“I just don’t know how we’re going to do things now. I mean, he was always there and now he’s not and-” he broke off, pressing a hand against his mouth to hold back the sob. Bilbo put an arm around his shoulders.

“All you can do is remember that he loved you and your family and know that he’d want you to keep going, to take care of your family. There’s not much more you can do after that.”

“And if I can’t look after them, or myself?”

“Then you find someone to look after _you_ until you _can_ take care of yourself. You’re a good boy, Fili; I know your father was very proud of you.”

Fili smiled softly. “Thanks.”

He soon left Bilbo to his peace, but he spent little time alone, as another figure sat down in the space beside him not minutes after Fili had emptied it.

“Bilbo.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo was surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“I am not bothering you, am I?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Of course not: I was just thinking.”

Thorin glanced up at the dark sky as he replied. “It seems to be the night for it.”

“How are you?” Thorin raised an eyebrow, looking shocked. “Well," Bilbo said now, "you did watch your brother-in-law be buried today.”

“Yes, you are right there," Thorin replied. "I suppose I’m not used to people inquiring as to my health.”

“I wasn’t talking about your health. Not your physical health, anyway.”

“I am fine, Bilbo. Are you?”

“Well..." Bilbo puased. "I didn’t know him as well as the rest of you did.”

“That doesn’t mean you hurt any less.”

“It seems such a pity and a waste," he said on a sigh.

“It was," agreed Thorin. "He was the best of all of us: and a hell of a lot of good for Dis.”

“How is she?”

“Coping the only way she knows, but coping. She’s a strong person.”

“I knew that already.”

Thorin chuckled softly. A deep, rumbling sound: like thunder. “Yes, I suppose you did,” he paused briefly. “Thank you,” Bilbo looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and shock, assuming he’d misheard, “for talking to Fili,” he continued, “It’s not often he feels unable to speak to another member of the family, but when he does its good he has someone to talk to.”

“I’m happy to talk to him whenever he needs it.”

“I doubted you before: your intentions,” Thorin admitted. “I thought you were simply trying to weasel your way in to keep yourself alive. But the boys like you, in fact, everyone does, and I’m more open to the belief that you reciprocate that feeling.”

“Well, don’t get me wrong you still all scare the hell out of me: and I often wonder what the hell I’m doing,” Thorin looked amused at that, “but you’re all not as inhuman as I once thought you were, and _I’m_ more open to believing that you’re not such bad people, even with the whole mafia thing,” Bilbo finished, watching Thorin's lips twitch into a smile and thinking the sight was lovely.

But his stomach still clenched from being close to him, and there was still that tiny little voice in the back of his head that told him to watch out, in case Thorin would strike him again.

The others may have become attached, but Thorin had said no such words about _himself_ being attached.

To Thorin, he was no more than a dispensable, disposable product. Something he could use and discard with when its convenience had ended.

He could not let himself forget that, ever. Because if he did he would let down his guard and the day he let down his guard could very well be the day Thorin decided he was no longer a convenient ally to have.

And that was simply the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

He should shut out whatever that warm feeling beginning to blossom in his chest was and keep it out.

For good.

 

 


	22. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Fili and Kili.

Fili was frantic; desperate to feel something other than the pain and grieving he’d been over-washed with this past week.

He stalked through the house, up the stairs and down the hall, passing his own bedroom and instead going for his brother’s. He pushed open the door, not even bothering to knock. Kili jumped at the noise, but relaxed when he saw his brother, releasing a loud sigh. He sat in the centre of his bed, flicking through an old book, though it was obvious he wasn’t reading it. “Hey."

Fili didn’t reply. Instead, he locked the door and stalked to the bed, leaning down and grabbing his brother by the front of his shirt, jerking him upwards and crushing their lips together violently, tasting blood when his lip snagged on teeth.

Kili stiffened in shock, but offered no protest. The tenseness in his shoulders quickly melted away and his hands reached up to thread themselves painfully into Fili’s hair. Fili deepened the kiss, delighting in his senses being flooded by his younger brother. Everything was Kili: every touch, every smell, every sensation that rocketed through him belonged to his brother.

They’d always been together, two halves of a whole. Everyone knew it. And Fili often wondered what he’d done those few years before Kili had been born. Although, to him, he was nothing before his brother came into his life: his former self a shadow of what he was now. Kili made everything better.

And now, while he was grieving, he knew Kili would make that better, too.

They pulled apart, needing air, and Fili rested his head against his brother’s, breathing in deeply.

“That was... unexpected,” Kili said now, a small smile twitching into his face. Fili felt his chest throb incessantly, the way it always did when Kili smiled, or frowned, or even looked at him.

“You could die tomorrow.” Fili closed his eyes tightly. “You could be kidnapped, or shot or tortured or stabbed and I might not be able to do anything about it.”

“Fili,” the name was released on a sigh, breath fanning across his face, and Fili felt a rush spike through his body in delight at the way it was said.

“I just... I just need...”

“I know,” Kili’s lips softly ran over Fili’s eyelids. “It’s okay, I know- you don’t have to say anything.” He never had to explain himself with Kili. He bent his head down, nuzzling at his brother’s neck.

Fili hummed, leaning heavily onto Kili, who, in return, allowed himself to be pushed down into the mattress, book being knocked off the bed in the process, all but forgotten.

His hands slipped over the other’s lithe figure, slipping under his shirt and flitting lightly up over his muscled stomach. Almost desperately, he pushed himself downwards, hiking up the rest f Kili’s shirt and licking at his navel, tasting salty flesh.

His stomach tensed under his mouth and he bit down hard on the delicious flesh, delighting in the gasp that he drew out of his brother in response. He wriggled his way further down, pulling open the button of Kili’s jeans with his teeth.

Kili’s resulting laughter warmed his whole body, making him feel almost the way he had before Gorkil had stabbed their father in front of them. He shuddered at the memory, shaking it off and yanking his brother’s jeans halfway down his legs: too eager in his need to forget to bother properly undressing Kili.

His lips wrapped around his brother now, making him shout in delight, body going taut as Fili lapped his rapidly hardening length with his tongue. Kili’s hands balled into fists beside him now, and Fili reached up, entwining their fingers, head bobbing as he swallowed his brother down again.

Kili was babbling now, much to Fili’s amusement, and soon enough his entire body was visibly shaking, tensing, orgasm about to rock through his body. Fili pulled off him, and Kili positively whined at the loss, the look on his face enough to make Fili chuckle, burying his face into his stomach.

“C’mere,” his hands wrapped around Kili’s neck, urging their lips together once more. Kili hummed when he tasted himself on his brother’s lips.

“You are wearing _far_ too many clothes,” he murmured into his mouth, fingers fumbling at his shirt. Fili let Kili pull his shirt over his head before moving closer to allow him better access to his belt. They pushed the last of each other’s clothes off, hands scrambling to touch every part skin they could reach.

It was so natural, something they’d been doing since they knew _how_ to do it, and not one thing about it ever felt wrong, or sinful and Fili could never find himself to feel guilty. He wasn’t sure where he got it from, but suddenly Kili had a bottle of lube in his hands and was smearing it all over his fingers. Fili willingly allowed himself to be pushed onto his back, legs falling open gracelessly, Kili crawling over him an impish smile spreading across his beautiful features.

“Make me forget,” Fili begged him, and Kili’s grin faltered for a minute, before melting into a soft, comforting smile.

“I will if you will,” he replied, pressing a chaste kiss onto his brother’s lips before settling himself between Fili’s thighs.

The feeling of being filled was one Fili welcomed happily, the pressure making his mind addle itself resulting often in him being reduced to a babbling mess (which was no different this time).

It took very little time before his orgasm spiked through his body, and he arched, crying out wordlessly, hands fisting desperately in the sheets either side of him, Kili soon following after him.

“I should get off of you,” Kili murmured into his shoulder after some time spent in silence.

“Don’t move just yet,” Fili found the words sounded rather pleading, but Kili made no mention of them, simply pressed his forehead back into the nape of Fili’s neck, breathing softly.

And Fili let himself drift off for the time being, pretending they weren’t the same people, and that they weren’t in the same place and that they hadn’t just returned from their father’s funeral. He dozed off softly to the sound of Kili’s breathing and the feel of his warm chest, rising and falling against his own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any errors, I'm in a rush to get out of the house for a breakfast with someone.


	23. Not Worthy of Such Touches

Ori’s all sweetness and kindness: bright colours and smiles and sunshine. Dwalin likes that, but knows he is the polar opposite.

He’s darkness and frowns and if it wouldn’t sound so horribly like Batman ( _Dwalin’s least favourite superhero- he was much fonder of Aqua Man_ ), he would say he was the night.

But Dwalin’s getting sick of sitting on the sidelines and just watching. He doesn’t want t just _watch_ anymore. He wants to _touch_.

Touch Ori’s soft skin: his face and his arms and his lips and his fingers and his _thighs_ , though his own scarred hands are not worthy of such touches.

He looks at his battered hands now, looks at the flesh, abused from years of hard work.

“Are you alright, Mister Dwalin?” Dwalin glanced up at Ori who was holding up a cup of coffee for him. “You haven’t been listening, have you? O-Only, I’ve been chattering away incessantly and I didn’t mean to bother you...” He set the cup down and made a move to leave, but Dwalin caught his hand.

“No,” he said now, stilling him. “Stay. Talk. It’s fine. I think we could both use the company.”

Ori’s lips fumbled up into a smile and Dwalin felt his heart stutter pathetically, though he found that he didn’t mind.

Slowly and more than a little unwillingly, he released Ori’s hand, fingers sliding over the fleshy bit of creamy skin around his palm, delighting in the friction it caused.

When Ori blushed and stammered a little, his delight was increased tenfold.

“Yer awful soft, y’know,” he found himself murmuring.

The crimson around Ori’s cheeks deepened. “Well... I know I’m not exactly battle hardened like you, Mister Dwalin, but...” _Battle hardened_? Dwain frowned, wondering if that was a good thing or not, while Ori went on. “I mean, I work very hard, just as much as you do, in my own way, and-”

“I was not suggesting you didn’t, lad.” Dwalin felt more than a little amused. “I was simply complimented you, is all.”

“Oh,” suddenly, Ori looked very embarrassed.“ _Oh_.”

“Battle-hardened, eh?” Dwalin asked, running a hand over his chin.

Ori spluttered. “I-I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Mister Dwalin.”

“ _Dwalin_. Just Dwalin, there’s no ‘Mister’ about it.” He very much enjoyed the responding smile.

“Right... Dwalin,” Ori wrinkled his nose as he tested the word on its own, clearly finding it odd not using the prefix as he usually did. Dwalin can’t help but laugh, and Ori looks a bit like a startled animal when he does.

Dwalin might have thought something to himself now about being in love, but he’s never really been the sentimental type.

Instead he just looks at the boy, trying to think of ways to make him laugh.

“Where’re your brothers?” he asks, but not really because he cares. Simply because he needs to keep Ori talking and hell he’d listen to him read out the damn phonebook if it meant he could hear his voice just for a little while longer.

“Not sure. Upstairs probably." Ori looked down at his hands. "Everyone’s been keen on staying in their rooms after this afternoon.”

“It’s been a sad day,” Dwalin agreed.

“Thank you, by the way. For, er, you know, comforting me at the funeral...” Ori’s face was changing colour again.

“Y’were upset,” Dwalin replied with a shrug. The sight of his tear stained face at the funeral had made his gut twist painfully and he’d been at such a loss for what to do. Only Ori had the power to make him feel so fucking _helpless_. He set his hand down on top of Ori’s now, feeling brave. “Looked like you needed a hug.”

“I did. So, thank you.”

There was an awkward silence that followed, and Dwalin wondered if Ori would protest much if he let his fingers amble up his wrist and arm. He wanted, oh he did. But he decided against it, just enjoying the warmth of Ori’s palm against his own.

This was enough for him. For now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S I like Dwalin as a cushy hidden romantic. Hush now, just enjoy teddy-bear Dwalin.


	24. Little Bunny

Bilbo found himself calling Gandalf for advice in the days that followed Finch’s funeral.

When he answered, Gandalf sounded surprised when he heard Bilbo’s voice over the phone.

“I thought you were probably dead,” Gandalf had commented, seemingly amused.

“I need your help,” he proceeded to tell Gandalf about Finch and Gorkil and how Smaug was responsible.

“There is a man I know,” Gandalf spoke after Bilbo had finished explaining as much of the situation as he dared, “he worked for Smaug up until a few weeks ago when he was fired- maybe he can help you figure out what to do.” Gandalf knew everyone, it seemed.

So Bilbo agreed to meet the man. It couldn’t hurt, even if he was simply a jaded ex-assistant with no help to offer. Any enemy of Smaug’s was a friend of his.

 

* * *

 

“He wants to meet me alone.” Bilbo said, sitting across from Thorin now in his study.

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Thorin was frowning.

“Well, he’s not going to help us if I break my promise. Besides, we’ll be in a public place. Don’t you trust me?”

“You know this is not a trust issue-”

“-then you should trust me in this-” Bilbo countered.

“-it’s a safety issue,” Thorin ended flatly.

“I will be perfectly safe. I told you we’re meeting in a public place.”

“Just because you’re in public doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at Thorin's words. “Would you prefer I cancel altogether and ruin a perfectly good chance to get information on Smaug?” Thorin didn’t answer, but his lips pursed into a thin line, and Bilbo knew he’d won the argument. “I’ll be perfectly fine," Bilbo continued, "I can more than handle myself, as you well know.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Thorin muttered.

“Then there’s no problem,” Bilbo gave a shrug of finality. “At midday I’ll go and meet him for lunch and try and convince him to help us.”

Thorin grumbled something in Khuzdul.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Bilbo continued, “If you know I won’t run off first chance I get and disappear somewhere halfway across the world then this shouldn’t be a problem. The guy is a Personal Assistant, not a bloody assassin. Gandalf tells me he has OCD.”

“You really think that changes things?”

“I’m going whether you want me to or not so you might as well play nice on this one and save us both some time.”

Thorin fell back into his chair in resignation. “Fine,” he ran a hand through his hair now, “fine. But I’ll have Dwalin pick you up afterwards.”

“Alright,” Bilbo agreed. “See, I can be reasonable when you’re reasonable.” He earned a small smile at that and tried to ignore the tingling sensation it elicited through his fingers and down his stomach. “I’d better go, let you get back to work.”

Thorin nodded slowly, and Bilbo wondered whether he was as reluctant to let him go as Bilbo was _to_ go.

He told himself to stop thinking such silly things as he left.

 

* * *

 

Beorn was certainly not what he’d expected.

First of all, the man was massive. Sort of like a bear. A good deal taller than Bilbo himself, he towered over everyone else in the cafe, even when he was sitting.

Bilbo suddenly wondered if maybe he should have taken up Thorin’s suggestion and came with someone else.

But the man had smiled friendlily and laughed a booming laugh at Bilbo when he’d voiced his shock at the man’s height.

_“Well, if I’m a bear, then you’re a bunny,” He’d said, “Little bunny.”_

Bilbo began by explaining (very quietly, mind you- the rest of the cafe didn’t need to hear) what had happened with the Arkenstone, and then to Finch and Smaug’s vendetta on the Durin’s.

“I’m telling you this because Gandalf said you were a trustworthy sort,” he said in reply, once Bilbo was finished. “It’s got nothing to do with the Durin’s.” Bilbo nodded in acknowledgment. “But I’ll take what I can get. He has a supplier. Everyone does,” he added with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “His name is Thranduil Greenwood. Pompous pretty boy he is: bleaches his hair and gets his eyebrows waxed.” Beorn rolled his eyes before continuing. “He runs Mirkwood incorporated, it’s a pharmaceutical company, but they sell weapons on the side- not that anyone can prove it. You get him then Smaug’ll lose a lot of his money and a hell of a lot of credibility. He won’t be able to hire so many goons.”

“Do you have an address?” Bilbo asked.

“I’ll write it down for you,” he reached into his jacket to pull out a pen and grabbed a napkin.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he’d said as Beorn offered the number. “I know how dangerous it is-”

“Screw danger. He fired me, and sure I’m mad, but I know he’s done some bad things and I let him and he’ll do more if he isn’t stopped and my conscience won’t feel right until someone does something to stop him.” Bilbo smiled, and Beorn spoke again. “You hungry? They do good pie here.”

“Sure,” Bilbo shrugged. Pie sounded good.

Three hours later, two pies and three rather large pots of tea, Bilbo was contented and full and rather sleepy. He stretched backwards, patting his distended stomach, feeling pleased with the good food and conversation.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” he remarked pleasantly.

“Little bunny full, is he?”

Bilbo chuckled. “Incredibly,” it was only then he realised the time, glancing at the large clock on the wall. “Oh, damn.”

“Problem?” Beron asked, one shaggy eyebrow raised.

“I’d better get going- they’ll be wondering where the hell I am,” he shot to his feet, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair. “It was good to meet you,” he reached out and took Beorn’s hand in both of his. “Thank you,” he shook it, earnest in his words, “really.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Bilbo felt himself grin. “Definitely.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Thranduil a total arsehole in this, I know, so I apologise to y’all Randy Thrandy fans.


	25. That Emotion Has a Name

“What do you want me to do, blow up the place?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. He was beginning to feel more and more comfortable around Thorin, and had even taking to voicing his opinions more.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said to Thorin. “I’m not saying we mail a bunch of dynamite in and see what happens- I’m saying we should get in there and destroy his hard drives and maybe steal his bank information so we can find and deplete Smaug's funds.”

“I know Thranduil (not personally, mind you, just his reputation), and even if we _do_ get inside, and even if we _do_ find the hard-drives and destroy them," Thorin ticked the necessities of fon his fingers. "And those are big _if_ s, how the hell are we going to get out without being noticed?”

“He has one security guard and a few cameras, but that’s it. I got in _here_ and you have a dozen guards, a ten-foot high fence and more security cameras than the goddamned Pentagon," Bilbo continued, ignoring the distaste on Thorin's face. "I’m sure if you gave me time I could come up with something.”

“Are you always this rude to members of the mafia, or is it just me?” Thorin’s words held no anger, and Bilbo could see the twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe I get a little rude after being locked away in a basement for a week,” he said now, giving a casual shrug, “who knows.”

Dwalin snorted. “Only one security guard, you said?” he asked, running his hand over the tattoos on his head. “Bit strange, isn’t it?”

“That’s on the outside, at least,” Bilbo admitted, “Beorn told me something about some strange men who wander the halls time to time. They’re not always there, though.”

“This is a bad idea.” Thorin said, hand over his face.

“It’s the best bad idea we’ve got,” he countered.

“He is right, Thorin,” Dwalin said now. “If we get Thranduil we can weaken Smaug. _Significantly_.”

“Are you sure this Beorn can be trusted?”

“No," Bilbo replied simply, shrugging. "But if he was trustworthy he wouldn’t have come to us in the first place.”

“That’s true,” Dwalin agreed. “Look, why don’t we just do some Intel for now?  Keep an eye on Mirkwood. Bilbo can think of ideas and if someone comes up with a better idea we’ll call this one bust.”

Thorin heaved a sigh. “Fine. But for the love of God do not take Kili with you on the Intel.”

“Why the hell would I be stupid enough to do that?” Dwalin asked, frowning.

“Because _I_ was stupid enough to do it last time and we sat in a car for seven hours with him singing Taylor Swift and complaining about needing to use the bathroom.”

“I thought you liked Taylor Swift, boss?” Thorin turned on his fire-ridden glower and Dwalin simply laughed. “I’ll take Ori with me; he can scour for information on his laptop while we’re waiting.”

The glower was wiped clean off his face and Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“What was that about?” Bilbo asked as Dwalin closed the door behind him.

“What was what?”

“That smug smile you've got on your face,” Bilbo pointed at him.

“Oh, nothing,” Thorin relaxed back into his chair as he spoke.

“Right,” Bilbo replied slowly. “Did you want me to...?" he moved to get up, gesturing vaguely at the door.

“No, no,” Thorin spoke quickly, then paused, “I mean, if... if you want to you can...”

“Oh, no, I just thought you might have work to get back to.”

“It can wait,” Bilbo watched Thorin's mouth fumbled up into a lopsided smile as he spoke. “I’m feeling a little lazy.”

“How unlike you,” he snagged a pen from the table and fiddled with it. “You’re usually nose deep in work from sunrise to sunset.”

“It gets pretty old pretty quick,” Thorin leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“I can imagine. I can barely negotiate my way around myself let alone having to look after a whole empire of things.”

“You get used to it," Thorin paused, considering it. "Though it does get frustrating...”

“You can’t delegate? Well, you know, more than you already have.”

“I tried it once," Thorin wrinkled his nose, "It didn’t work too well.”

“I’m assuming you thought it’d be a good idea to give Fili and Kili something to do, right?”

Thorin winced at the memory. “I put them in charge of gathering rental payments from our tenants.”

Bilbo laughed, throwing the pen down.

“You put them in charge of _money_?”

“Yes, yes, enough of that.” Thorin frowned in irritation. “I realize now that it was a very bad idea and I’ll admit that looking back on it I have no idea what I was thinking,” he ran a hand down his face. “They’ll be in charge of everything when I go.”

“God forbid. Let’s hope you live for a very long time.”

“I’m certainly hoping for that myself.”

“So what exactly do mob bosses do when they’re locked up in their offices?” Bilbo wondered, looking about the room. This was nice and he wanted to keep the conversation going. “Do you actually _do_ anything on the computer or do you just sit around and play Galaga all day?”

Thorin snorted in amusement. “I wish. It’s more... organising.”

“Organising?” Bilbo repeated.

“Sure. You know, setting up dates for shipments, arranging meetings. It’s just like managing a business.”

“Except with a lot more murder,” Bilbo uttered.

Thorin laughed loudly, and Bilbo jumped in shock, never having heard the sound before. It was deep and rich and strangely intoxicating, and it took him a moment before he realized he was smiling like an idiot at the sight.

The exhilarating sensation that was often flooding through his system around Thorin was suddenly recognised.

That emotion had a name. A very disconcerting one.

Oh, that couldn’t be good.

 

 


	26. The King of Mirkwood

But time passed, and Bilbo came up with an easy plan and no one else could think of any better bad ideas, so Thorin had to begrudgingly agree to Bilbo’s plan.

“I still don’t like it,” he told Bilbo with a sigh. “I’ve got a bad feeling, but it’s the closest we’ve got to an idea so we’re going to have to roll with it.”

“So, tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Thorin agreed.

Tomorrow arrived pretty quick for Bilbo, and he felt that familiar knot in his stomach the second he woke up and saw the ceiling. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply, trying to calm himself. His fingers were tingling and he knew his body would be hyperaware of everything around it until well after they’d finished what they needed to do tonight.

Fili and Kili were in the kitchen, eating and complaining to Dwalin about how they weren’t allowed to come along. But after the last fiasco, Bilbo could see why Thorin refused to allow it.

Dis had probably had a word or two to say in that decision as well. He hadn’t seen her much since the funeral, just a peek here or there, and even then her face had always been downcast, her hands wrung together.

Thankfully Fili and Kili were coping a little better. They were grieving, of course, but they came out of their rooms every day and did things to pass the time and keep their minds off the subject. Sometimes late at night he could hear crying in one of the rooms, though he couldn’t tell which brother it was from. Not that it mattered. Bilbo always felt his heart ache a little when he heard the sounds.

He himself had cried many times these past few nights, though he’d kept it to a low sob, muffled by his pillow.

The morning had passed quickly and melded into midday and then afternoon and Bilbo found himself rather quickly preparing for the task ahead.

“I feel the way I did when I went on my first raid,” Ori fiddled with the zipper on his jacket nervously, “I was so nervous; my hands shook the entire time.” He laughed, “I’ve never actually had to go _in_ before, though. Usually I’d just sit nearby in a car with Bombur, like we did with the Trollshaws, remember?”

“I remember,” Bilbo told him.

“What if I screw up?” Ori asked, sounding desperate.

“You won’t screw up, and if you do we’ll all be there to help you out. Dwalin will look after you, you know that.”

Ori looked a little bit placated at his words. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Bilbo thought briefly about asking Ori about Dwalin, but quickly decided against it. He didn’t want to pry and he wouldn’t like anyone asking him such questions.

Soon enough night-time came and they got ready to leave.

Not many of them went on this task (mainly at Thorin’s urging) the only ones who did come were Bombur, who was driving (as usual), Nori, himself, Dwalin and Ori, who was the obvious choice to break into Thranduil’s hard-drives and get his information.

“Nori and I will go in first,” Thorin said as they were driving, “we’ll make sure the coast is clear and find Thranduil’s office. Then we’ll send for Ori to come and help us. We’ll need you lot to stay at the back door and make sure the security guard doesn’t come through to check inside on his rounds. If he does, you tell me and we’ll get out as soon as we can.” Bilbo didn’t like this idea, but he agreed anyway, albeit a bit reluctantly. Dwalin noticed.

“It’ll be right,” he assured Bilbo. “Thorin can handle his own.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he murmured in reply. It still seemed a foolish idea, but maybe that was simply because he wasn’t going in himself. Maybe all his ideas seemed foolish to others, but he never thought of such things because he was the one who came up with them.

He shook his head.

Bombur parked a few streets away and saluted them as they left before reaching into the glove box and pulling out some “provisions” (and by provisions, he meant HobNobs and some crisps).

Mirkwood was massive: tall and stretching and rather intimidating it stood on the end of the street dominating all the other buildings around it.

All the windows were dark and there was a security guard doing his rounds about the empty car park, looking rather bored. They stayed in the shadows, sneaking around the side of the building and around the back. Ori went to work on the security cameras that swept past the back entrance where the shipments arrived, and after a few moments managed to freeze them with relative ease.

“I don’t feel like this is going to go well,” Bilbo mused as Nori knelt down at the back door and began to pick the lock. It _was_ going well, really, in fact Bilbo felt this was working a little _too_ smoothly.

“What?" Nori asked jokingly. "Don’t think I’m as good as you?”

“No, it’s not that. I just...” he looked about him. “Do all your raids go as well as this?”

“Sometimes,” Dwalin said with a shrug. “Other times we really cock it up, but that’s usually just when the younglings are involved,” he glanced at Ori. “No offense.”

“None taken, I suppose,” Ori murmured in reply. “Is something wrong, Bilbo?” he wondered, looking concerned.

“I...” he shook his head. “No, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just me,”

“Alright then.”

The door clicked open now and Nori looked up triumphant and a little smug.

“Done?” he asked.

“Was easy,” Nori's words didn’t make Bilbo feel any better. _Since when is anything_ this _easy? Since when is the backdoor into a headquarters for a smuggler just left unguarded save for some bloody cameras?_

“Okay,” Thorin turned to them now, “stay to the wall, and if you hear the security guard coming round the back-”

“We know, we know.” Dwalin cut him off. “Hide and contact you.”

“Good, we’ll be calling for Ori soon enough to stay alert.”

Ori nodded obediently.

They watched the two disappear through the door.

Bilbo started pacing almost immediately.

“You sure you’re alright, Bilbo?” Ori was watching him, concern in his gaze.

“Huh? Oh, yes, yes,” he fiddled with his pockets absentmindedly.

“Yer always this fidgety?” Dwalin wanted to know.

“When I’m thinking, yes,” they fell back into a brief silence.

“You all ready Ori?” Dwalin asked the other now.

“Yes, yes!” Ori nodded eagerly. “I’m rather keen to go in.”

Dwalin laughed at him.

“What?” Ori looked crestfallen.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” Dwalin assured him quickly.

“You’re just very eager, Ori,” Bilbo said, trying to help Dwalin along a little, “It’s amusing.”

“Exactly,” Dwalin agreed, looking thankful. “It’s amusing- _yer_ amusing.”

Bilbo smiled at the sight before him.

“I-”

Dwlain's head shot up now. “What the hell is that noise?” the words whipped out.

“Footsteps," Bilbo said, hearing it, too. "Running.”

“Get away from the door,” Dwalin grabbed Ori by the shirtfront and pulled him away just as the back door burst open and Nori fell out, panting harshly. His hand clitching his shoulder.

“I...” blood seeped out over his fingers.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ yer have got to be kidding me.” Dwalin spat as Nori staggered.

“Nori!” Ori cried, rushing to his brother.

“What the hell happened?” Bilbo demanded.

Nori was babbling, a fine sheen of sweat having worked its way over his skin. He looked dreadful. Then again, he had just been shot. “They were everywhere,” he managed to discern from Nori’s inane chatter. “Just came out...” Bilbo had to concentrate to pick the words out, “...jumped on us like fucking Spiders...”

“Where’s Thorin?” Dwalin grabbed hold of Nori’s wrist, steadying him, trying to get a coherent answer.

“They took him. I only just got away,”

Dwalin swore very loudly. Bilbo swore very softly.

“We have to get away or else they’ll-”

“Get him out of here,” Bilbo ordered Dwalin now, cutting Ori off. “The both of you take him and get him to Bombur, get him to the hospital.”

“But what are you going to do?” Ori asked him.

“I’m going to go in, get Thorin. It’s not going to go well if more than one of us go... Should have listened to my bloody gut,” he muttered now. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

“You can’t-”

“It’s my fault he’s stuck in there and it’s _my_ fault Nori’s been shot. Now get him to the hospital,”

“Can you handle this?” Dwalin asked now, seeming unsure about leaving him to find Thorin alone.

“I think I’ve had worse prospects awaiting me, yes.”

Ori pushed forward now, looking Bilbo in the eyes. “I can help.” 

Dwalin immediately reached for the boy. “ _Hell_ _no_ ,” he ground out. Even Nori was weakly protesting.

“I don’t know if...” Bilbo said now.

“I can help.” Ori repeated. “I can get the bank information, _I can help_.”

“It’s dangerous in there. Nori was shot.”

“Have you looked at my family recently? We’re kind of in danger all the time.”

Bilbo paused, considering it.

“I said: _hell no_.” Dwalin repeated.

Bilbo stepped forward, pushing Ori out of the way. “I get that you’re worried, but Ori can handle himself, and I’m not going to leave him alone and I’m not going to leave him if he gets into trouble.”

“I-”

“I’ll look after him, Dwalin,” he spoke in a hushed tone, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “I swear to God, I’ll make sure he gets out along with Thorin,” he raised his voice now, letting Ori hear him. “Now go, get out of here.”

Reluctantly, Dwalin nodded. “You look after him,” he ordered Bilbo, slowly moving away.

“I will.” Bilbo promised.

Dwalin turned, singing Nori’s unwounded arm over his shoulders, but an idea struck Bilbo and he reached out to stop him. “Wait!”

“What?”

“Get Bombur to get him to the hospital. But you stay on the premises.”

Dwalin frowned, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“Stay around the building. Wait for me to contact you. I’m guessing we’re going to need one hell of a distraction to get out safely, so work on that.”

His eyes lit up with understanding. “Right, I’m on it.”

“Alright, Ori, come on." Bilbo said, watching Dwalin carry Nori away. "Let’s find Thorin.”

 

 


	27. Could Really use a Distraction Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert usual crappy scene here]

Mirkwood was a maze. He moved through the shipping area, grabbing hold of Ori and yanking him down behind a stack of crates when he heard voices.

“Let go of me!”

“It’s Thorin!” Ori whispered, looking at the figures as they passed by. Thorin was thrashing against the men, and they dragged him through an open doorway and into one of the other rooms.

“Stay here,” he told Ori, stepping out from behind the crates. “I’ll be back.”

“Be careful, Bilbo!” he followed the men through the doorway, finding himself in an endless storage room. He stayed to the side, using boxes for cover when the men began to talk.

One was gloating at Thorin while the other tying his hands, securing him to one of the heavy shelves, stacked high to the roof with boxes.

“Try and pull yourself out of that one and you’ll be crushed,” he warned, getting to his feet now.

“I’ll call the boss,” the other one said, moving past Bilbo where he hid, unnoticed. “Tell ‘em we found someone breaking in the premises.”

“I’ll make sure there aren’t any still out the back.”

“Alright, but be quick, he’s more than likely to cause problems, this one,” the first one jerked his head back at Thorin.

Bilbo waited until they left, flicking the lights out as they went (‘ _just for the hell of it_ ’ the first man had laughed), before he shimmied his way out from behind the stack of boxes.

“Thorin?” he whispered as he moved, squinting at the dark. The figure moved immediately, from what Bilbo could discern a head shot up.

“ _Bilbo_? Where are you?”

“Shh,” Bilbo hissed at him kneeling beside him now. “I’m right beside you.” Thorin reached out blindly, grasping Bilbo’s arm with both his bound hands. “Ori and I are here- Bombur’s taking Nori to the hospital, he’s fine,” he added when he felt Thorin tense up, “just a shoulder wound. Dwalin’s standing by to make a distraction so we can get out, but first Ori and I have to do something. Can you wait?”

“However long you need. Thranduil isn’t here, just those bastards,” Thorin spat the last word out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Thorin asked immediately, sounding suspicious of Bilbo.

“Because I knew something wasn’t wrong and I didn’t say anything.”

Thorin relaxed. “For a moment there I thought you were going to say you told them we were coming.”

Bilbo was a little hurt at that comment. “You really thought that? After everything you’d think I’d just double cross you to save my hide with Smaug?”

“I think about the worst option first, it’s sort of a prerequisite of the job.” Bilbo just rolled his eyes, telling himself he should not be upset. “You should have gotten out-” Thorin said now, and Bilbo tried not to wince at the pressure applied to his bicep (well, what excuse he had for a bicep anyway), “saved yourself.”

“I already told you I don’t plan on leaving.”

Thorin let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “What?”

“You keep doing the complete opposite to what I think you’re going to do. No matter how sure I am, you always-”

“Well, I _am_ an enigma,” he gave a weak grin, squeezing Thorin’s hand in comfort. “I’ll get you out,” he promised now. “Soon as I can.”

“I trust you,” Thorin informed him now, sending a shot of warmth curling all through Bilbo’s body. “All the worst-option thinking aside, I trust you.” Thorin wasn’t the kind of person to trust easily, but he trusted Bilbo. Thorin Durin trusted _him_ , Bilbo Baggins.

He wanted to stay, to talk more, but this wasn’t the time and he could hear people approaching, so he reluctantly released Thorin’s hand and slipped away.

“Is he okay?” Ori whispered when Bilbo returned to their hiding place.

“He’s fine... for now. I’ve got a plan, but it’s not very good. In fact, it’s very basic. It’s more a to-do list than anything else, really. And you know most of it anyway.”

“What is it?”

“We get to Smaug’s office, get the information, and then get Dwalin to cause a distraction so we can get back to Thorin and get the hell out of here,” he paused, “I told you it was very basic.”

“Well, we can fill it in as we go,” Ori chuckled nervously.

“Come on, let’s get a move on.”

They made their way out into the main entry area, moving towards the elevator.

“Take the stairs,” Bilbo whispered, pointing to the door a little ways across from it. “For obvious reasons.”

“Of course,” Ori rolled his eyes. “I’m not completely stupid.”

“I never said you were.” They reached the stairwell and Ori pushed open the door quietly.

“How far up do we have to go?” he asked as they started to move silently up the stairs.

“Top floor.”

“Jesus.”

Bilbo glanced up as Ori spoke, reiterating that in his head. It was just stairs, stretching upwards and upwards and upwards... it went on endlessly, like some kind of stretching forest.

So they climbed and climbed and climbed in silence, until after what seemed like an eternity, they reached the top floor.

“Be careful,” Bilbo said softly as Ori gently nudged open the door. He looked down the hall and into the darkness.

“I don’t see... wait,” he grabbed hold of Bilbo’s shirtsleeve. “Man.”

“Just the one?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Standing outside the door,” Ori turned to him, looking desperate. “What do we do?"

“We need a distraction.” Bilbo glanced down the stairs quickly before looking over at Ori. “Stay here,” he ordered.”Be very, _very_ quiet. Understand?” Ori nodded. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He rushed down the stairs (quietly, mind you) and exited onto the floor below Thranduil’s office. The hallway was empty, just like he was hoping, and he rushed to the elevator, clicking on the up button.

“Come on, come on.”

It dinged, the doors sliding open, and he reached in, pressing the top button and pulling out, watching the doors slide closed again. He ran down the hall and into the stairwell, taking two at a time, and reached Ori, who was still peering out of the doorway.

“Has he moved?”

“Not yet,” Bilbo pushed Ori down a little so he could look out into the hallway.

The elevator light shone to declare it was moving, and the man frowned when he caught sight of it. Bilbo reached into his pocket, grabbing his pick and tension wrench and grasped them tightly in his hands, waiting.

The man moved forwards, turning his body fully away from the stairwell and Bilbo jolted into action, rushing out into the hall silently and to Thranduil’s office door, crouching down to work at the lock.

 _Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea, bad idea,_ his mind chanted at him as he desperately moved the pick around, pressing at the pins, pushing them upwards to set them so the lock would turn.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open at the same time the lock clicked and Bilbo pushed the door open.

“Get in!” he hissed, yanking Ori inside and shut the door silently, pulling them both to the ground.

Silence followed.

And silence stayed.

Bilbo slowly got up onto his knees and pressed his ear to the door, hearing footsteps and a man muttering. “...check that soon,” he was saying to himself.

He gestured at Ori, and then to the computer at the end of the room. Ori got to his feet slowly, padding over to the desk and kneeling down in front of the hard-drive. Bilbo stayed at the door. He didn’t know much about computers, only what got him through, so the only way he could help Ori was to stay at the door and listen for any changes outside.

Bilbo reached for his phone, typing on Dwalin’s number. **_A distraction would be good right about now_.**

He didn’t hit send. Not yet. Ori had to get this done first, or else they’d have no time to get back to Thorin.

Bilbo turned back to the other now, waving to get his attention.

“ _How long_?” he mouthed. Ori gave a pained look and held up four fingers.

“ _It’s complicated_ ,” he mouthed back before holding up four fingers again, reiterating. Bilbo pressed his ear against the door again, impatient.

He closed his eyes, silently counting, trying to keep himself calm and pass the time. They were alright, they had time. Well, not a whole lot, because soon enough Thranduil would be here, and he’d more than likely come into his office to make sure nothing got touched, and then they’d be royally screwed.

“Psst,” he turned to look over his shoulder, finding Ori giving him the thumbs up. He hit send on the message, relieved.

“What now?” Ori whispered, so quiet the words were barely perceptible.

“Now we wait.”

It didn’t take long. Bilbo had wanted a good distraction, but the loud explosion that had boomed across the air had not been what he was expecting. Ori jumped to his feet, rushing to the window and looking out at the entrance to the building. From where Bilbo sat he could see red and yellow lighting the night.

Bilbo vaguely heard rushing footsteps away from the door, and got to his feet.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed now.

“Dwalin blew up a car!”

“Oh, Jesus,” he pressed a hand to his face. “Come on.”

“What about the hard-drives? We were going to blow them up-”

“Screw the hard-drives; we’ve got the bank information, that’s enough,” he opened the door a tiny bit, peering out in time to find the guard stepping into the elevator. The doors slid closed and he stepped out into the hall.

“Let’s hurry up,” they rushed down the stairs, two at a time, not bothering with noise. He found Thorin again, this time unguarded.

“Bilbo?”

“I’m here. But I think we may have overstayed our welcome,” he felt his way to the bindings.

“What was the bang?” Thorin demanded.

“Dwalin blew up a car.” Bilbo explained, cutting the rope around Thorin’s hands.

“Well, that’s one way to provide a distraction.”

They ran out the back, sirens blaring in the distance, moving closer. “There’s no one back here,” Ori said now, confused.

“That’s because they’re all out the bloody front! Let’s go!”

“Oi!” Bilbo skidded to a halt, finding Dwalin waving a hand at them. “This way!” They followed him, finding the car waiting not far down the road, engine running.

“What about Nori?” Bilbo asked as they crammed themselves inside.

“I got him to the hospital and came back. Can’t let you walk home, now can I?” he hit the accelerator, speeding away past the Fire-Engines that turned onto the street now.

They were silent for some time, save for the heavy breathing, and Bilbo ran a hand over his face.

“Well,” he said after a moment or two, “that went well.”

 

 


	28. Your Full-Time Job

When they got back to the house they were bombarded with questions. Dori, having received a blunt, text from Dwalin with no real explanation as to why or how his brother had been shot, was fuming, according to Bofur.

Thankfully he was at the hospital so Dwalin didn’t have to worry too much about that. Yet, anyway.

Ori knew it’d be amusing to watch his oldest brother chew him out.

After politely answering their questions, Bilbo excused himself, saying he needed some silence and calm after tonight’s events, and made his way to the garden, where he usual went when he wanted quiet. Not that he often got it. Fili and Kili seemed a little upset that Bilbo wanted privacy, but stayed where they were in the living room anyway, rounding on Bombur and himself for information when Thorin simply pushed past them and followed Bilbo outside.

Ori took a page from Bilbo’s book soon after, saying he needed a hot cup of tea and a shower, and by God did he. A cup of tea could do him a world of good.

Tonight’s activities were... shaking, to say the least.

He’d felt exhilarated the whole time.

He’d also felt bloody useless, too.

Bilbo had plans and ideas and was the one who was dragging him around, leaving him feeling more and more inept as the night wore on.

Why, Ori didn’t have a scheming bone in his body. He had no skill with lock picks or tricking guards.

But then again, he wasn’t a burglar, not like Bilbo was.

Bilbo had been doing such things his entire life.

Ori had to keep reminding himself that he was a tech guy, not G.I. Joe. He never did stuff like that and the others didn’t expect him to.

It wasn’t his job.

 _Still_. It would be nice to be that impressive.                

“Ori!” he turned and looked down the hall when he heard the familiar voice calling his name.

“Dwalin?” Dwalin didn’t say anything in reply; he simply grabbed the other and captured him in a hug.

“I was worried about you.”

“I really am fine, Dwalin,” Ori insisted, still swallowed up in the embrace. Dwalin had a habit of making Ori feel so very small. Not that he really minded, though he’d never tell anyone that mortifying thought. Dwalin still hadn’t let go of him, so Ori slowly wrapped his arms around the man’s massive middle. “I was worried about you, too,” he admitted, words muffled by the great big wall of chest in front of him. Dwalin smelt comforting: earthy and warm and everything else that Ori liked. He felt himself blush when he buried his face deeper into Dwalin’s chest, inhaling deeply.

He felt Dwalin’s finger slip a little lower now, own past his shoulder and around his waist. His stomach flipped.

“...Dwalin?” he timidly looked up at him now. Dwalin’s eyes were dark and hooded and spread a strange, shaky feeling through Ori’s body. Feeling braver than he ever had in his life, he angled his head up a little further and stretched up onto the tips of his toes, letting his lips softly brush over Dwalin’s.

As if some dam had been released, Dwalin let out a loud, unabashed groan and swept down, deepening he kiss, arms tightening around him. Ori squeaked in shock, eyes going wide, and clutched at Dwalin’s thick arms, revelling at the heat that was pouring through his veins now.

“Maybe we should move,” Dwalin said now, pulling back abruptly. Ori whined at the loss.

“What?” he asked vaguely, hands moving up to Dwalin’s neck, pulling him back down. Dwalin chuckled into his mouth when their lips reconnected.

“I said,” he spoke through his kisses, “I think we should go somewhere that isn’t so _public_.”

Ori nodded his agreement frantically and let Dwalin lead him back towards his room.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo inhaled deeply, feeling tired. He wanted to sleep, but he wasn’t sure he could. He felt wired.  He stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to pin-point the exact moment when his life had turned to madness. Surely it was when Smaug had approached him about the Arkenstone. Or maybe it was when he’d first come to the Durin mansion, dressed as an electrician.

No, Bilbo thought it must have been the moment he agreed to help them. Everything got completely mad after that.

“You mind if I sit?” Bilbo gave a shrug.

“Go ahead.”

“Only, I know you wanted privacy.”

“I never seem to get it here anyway. If it wasn’t you it’d be your nephews,” he insisted. “Take a seat,” Thorin slowly sank down beside him. “Ori got the bank details,” he told Thorin now. “We can deplete his funds as soon as you want.”

“I think we’ll let Ori get some sleep first.”

“I think we should,” Bilbo agreed with a smile, “He did well tonight. More than I could on that computer. He’s very useful.”

“That he is.”

“He deserves some rest. We all do.”

Thorin smiled now. “You saved me. _Again_.”

“It’s becoming something of a full-time job,” Bilbo replied jokingly.

“Well,” Thorin moved a little closer to him now, “maybe when we’re finally done with Smaug you might... want to make it your full time job.”

He was suddenly very close and Bilbo was having a very hard time looking away from his icy blue eyes, brimming with earnest now. “Oh,” the word was released on a long breath.

Thorin leaned over a little, his nose bumping gently against Bilbo’s, and then further still, to kiss him.

“Uncle Thorn!”

Bilbo jumped, pulling away as Fili came towards them.

Thorin looked significantly irked. “What is it?” he demanded, voice flat.

“Fili caught Dwalin and Ori totally making out in the hallway.” Kili, never far away from his brother, came around the corner now, excitement clear on his face.

“Your point is?” they both looked at their uncle like he was being unnecessarily thick.

“Well... they’re making out!” Fili cried.

“Yes, well we all knew it was going to happen sooner or later, didn’t we?” Thorin asked.

“You shouldn’t be so nosy, you two.” Bilbo scolded, getting to his feet. “Though I suppose it is rather nice,” he admitted, the frown slipping from his face, replaced now by a smile.

“Isn’t it?” Kili agreed with a grin. “It’s about bloody time, too,” he added, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been gazing at each other like they’re in some sort of romance novel for long enough now.”

“Well, you two had better not say anything tomorrow morning,” Thorin warned.

“Why not?” whined the younger brother now.

“Because _a)_ Dwalin will kill you, _b)_ it is really very rude to embarrass people like that and _c)_ it’s actually none of your business.”

“Ori’s family,” Fili retorted while his brother pouted, “that makes it our business.”

“Not unless Ori wants it to be your business. And I rather doubt he does. Now I’d better get to bed,” he finished now, “it’s been quite a long night, I’m sure you’ll agree.” He turned and gave Thorin a small smile. “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,” Thorin replied, irritation clear in his voice.

“Did we interrupt something, Uncle?” Bilbo heard Kili asked as he walked away.

“Just get to bed,” Thorin replied, still irate, and Bilbo smiled as he rounded the corner and made his way to his room. _His_ room. Since when did it become _his_ room?

 _Well_ , Bilbo thought now, it _was_ his room. He felt just as home here as he did back in his apartment.

He thought over Thorin’s words, and remembered Kili’s, which had been startlingly similar.

Could he stay here after Smaug?

Reaching his room, his suddenly realized he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwori! And an eensy weensy bit of Thilbo.


	29. The Way We Were Before

The knock on his door was somehow both tentative and authoritative at the same time. So he wasn’t surprised at all when he pulled open the door to reveal the knocker.

“Thorin,” the name had come out a little breathy, and Bilbo tried to ignore the blush he felt spread across his face. He took up the entire space the doorway provided, never failing in making Bilbo feel so incredibly small. Not that he was short of anything (Bilbo was a perfectly respectable and average height for a male his age, _thank you_ ).

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“No, no, of course not,” he pulled the door back a little, letting Thorin pass by. He closed the door and turned to face him now, feeling the odd compulsion to do something to busy his hands. He stuffed them in the pocket of his jeans. “What did you need?” he asked.

“Just a word.”

“Sure,” Bilbo said now, standing there a little awkwardly.

Thorin seemed to hesitate.  “Uh... I’ve never actually had to... well, I’ve never been very good with people... mainly because I’ve never really had to deal with them on a normal basis that other people might have.”

“Right.”

“So,” Thorin continued now, “I’m not too sure what I should be doing here.”

“What do you mean?”

Thorin heaved a sigh, looking resigned. “I’m not too sure myself, to be honest. I just know that… well, before you were here things were fine, and I know that (we all do). But it feels like when you _do_ go, none of us are going to be able to go back to being the way we were before. It won’t feel… right.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love, but Bilbo had a feeling that for Thorin the admission was close enough.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Thorin released a long breath, as if he’d been holding it. “Yes,” he said now. “Yes, I am.”

“You all really want me to stay?”

“Of course we do,” Thorin was frowning now, like it should have been obvious. Well, Kili had suggested it a few times…

Realising he should probably say something, he opened his mouth to speak, but Thorin got there first.

“I’ll, uh, leave you alone now…” Thorin cleared his throat awkwardly and made a move to leave.

Were it under a different context, Bilbo would have been amused at Thorin’s awkwardness. But right now he couldn’t be.

The door closed behind him but he stayed standing still, frowning.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

 

* * *

 

After far too long in his room, Bilbo decided he needed to get out. Maybe a walk would help him calm down. He went down the stairs and the hall, turning into the kitchen where Kili and Fili sat, going over something with Ori on his computer.

“Bilbo!” Kili gave him a smile made of sunshine. “Finally out and about, I see.”

“Yes, I’m just going to go and get some tea from the store down the road.” Bilbo paused, looking at them. “That _is_ alright, isn’t it?” Kili gave him a grin.

“Yeah, sure. You want me to go with you?”

“You’re busy, it’s fine. I’m just going down the road. I’ll have my phone on me and everything.”

Kili seemed hesitant, but shrugged after a moment of considering. “Alright, see you soon.”

It was quite bright out today, and Bilbo revelled in the sunshine as he walked.

Things seemed better somehow, and somewhere deep down in his subconscious he knew there was no getting away from the Durin’s. They’d managed to nestle their way deep under his skin. They were stuck there now, which meant they, in turn, were stuck with him.

The thought made him more than a little happy, and he was suddenly very eager to finish his walk and go back to see the others.

He never made it to the end of the street, though.

He was so lost in thought as he rounded the corner that he didn’t notice the vehicle pulling up just behind him.

The hands that grabbed him came as such a sudden shock he’d been unable to put up much of a fight.

And as they roughly shoved him into the van, he found himself thinking that he should have let Kili come with him.

 

 


	30. A Flicker of Doubt

“I’ve never had to be saved before.” He was usually the one solving the problems, not causing them.

“Well, new experiences make a person stronger, don’t they?”

Bilbo looked up at Smaug, with his usual grin and smug demeanour, and wished his hands were free so he could slap him.

“You know,” Bilbo continued, feeling brave, “Even the Durin’s had me in a much nicer place than this. That’s certainly saying something about your hosting technique.” The resulting smack across the face sounded like a whip and Bilbo’s head was jerked to the side so violently he felt his world spin. “My point exactly.”

“Watch your tongue, Burglar,” Smaug hissed, face curling into one of fury, “or I’ll cut it out of your mouth.”

“But then I wouldn’t tell you what you want.”

“Which is?”

Bilbo gave a shrug in reply. “I don’t know, you haven’t told me.”

He got a solid kick to the ribs at that, winding him, and he doubled over, coughing loudly. His body ached already. In the interest of self preservation, he stayed his tongue this time. But only just. He had a problem with getting snarky when he was in trouble.

Bad defence mechanism, he should come up with another.

Smaug knelt down in front of him now, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking his head up so Bilbo was forced to look into Smaug’s unnatural looking eyes.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about the Durin’s,” he told Bilbo now. “Their weaknesses, their hopes, hell, I even want to know what they dream about. _Everything_ ,” he stretched the word out, long and slow, hand tightening in Bilbo’s hair, pulling painfully at his scalp. He winced, but otherwise kept his face straight.

“And why would I tell you any of that?”

“Because if you do I’ll be willing to let you go.”

“Even if I did believe you, which I don’t, then I’d only envoke the rage of the Durin’s. I’ll be dead either way, right?”

“Certainly, but if you help me you’ll be dead on your own terms. You could do it yourself before they get to you. But if you don’t help me... I’m afraid to say I’m a little more creative than Thorin Durin.”

He severely doubted that, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to goad Smaug any more than he already had.

At the silence, Smaug raised an eyebrow, before the realisation must have hit him.

He laughed now, a mocking, condescending sound. “Oh, that’s sweet: a Burglar finding trust in a Mafia family. I’m touched, really, but don’t you think that’s a bit naive of you?” Bilbo didn’t speak. “Well, now, I certainly think it is. I mean, placing your trust in people like that,” Smaug clicked his tongue, letting out a ‘tut, tut, tut’, “Not exactly the smartest move.”

“We all make mistakes,” Bilbo found himself muttering.

“Do you really think they’re going to come for you? They they even _care_ that you’re gone? Their only worry would be you betraying them. They were only using you and you know it,” a little flicker of doubt was captured at Smaug’s words, making it burst into flames. “Why would they come for you? You’re just the Burglar. The Durin’s are only loyal to themselves. No one’s coming for you, you’re all alone,” the words caused something inside him to shatter, “and you’re going to be down here for a long time, so get used to it,” he straightened himself up now, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

“If this is the way you treat all your guests I can see why no one _likes_ _you_!” he yelled after Smaug’s retreating figure. The door slammed closed, stuffy silence following. He groaned, letting his body slump onto the ground.

Smaug was right. He was on his own. But he’d lived like that for all his life so it was something he knew how to handle.

He could do this... maybe.

 

 


	31. Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Bilbo was alone, alone in the dark like he had been after his parents had died: nothing more than a passing shadow, a slight flurry, a blot that went unnoticed.

He was hungry, and more than a little sore. Not that he’d admit it to Smaug (though at times his grumbling stomach gave him away).

And Smaug would smile and gloat, taking a picture and asking him to divulge all information he had on the Durin’s. But Bilbo didn’t, and there was nothing Smaug could do about it.

Because Smaug couldn’t touch him... well, physically, yes, but certainly not mentally.

Smaug had the infuriatingly unintelligent habit of underestimating him. He’d done it with the Arkenstone and he was doing it now.

Because the Durin’s may or may not give a damn about Bilbo, that wasn’t part of it. The important thing was that Bilbo gave a damn about them, and a Baggins does not let down people they care about, regardless of the situation.

And as alone as he was, he could always hold onto that.

So through hell and high water he was going to keep his mouth shut. About that particular thing anyway, occasionally he’d let it open with some crass remark, which usually resulted in a blow to the face or the stomach.

It was totally worth it, though.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was at a loss as to what to do.

The pictures had begun to arrive the day after Bilbo had disappeared, and when Ori had received the first one he’d been inconsolable, Fili and Kili much the same.

This was his fault. He knew that. He was responsible for Bilbo and he’d been taken. He was loath to admit that at first he’d thought Bilbo had gone off after being frightened away. He’d scolded himself for being so upfront with things after only knowing each other for a few months. They all had. Asking him to stay after such a short period of time was... well, it was a monumental amount of stupid.

But he’d been unable to accept that line of thought completely. After all, Bilbo was part of the family now. He wouldn’t just leave them all, especially Fili and Kili. The boys were attached and Thorin knew Bilbo held affection for them.

Thorin had to admit that he himself was more than a bit attached.

Now he was sitting in his study, pain roaring in his head, in utter shock at what he was considering doing.

But this was Bilbo, and Bilbo had been kind and soft and warm to them. And he'd saved them. Multiple times.

This was Bilbo, who had spoken words of kindness when none of them had deserved it; Bilbo, who had won over Dwalin before anyone else (which was a fete of magnificent proportions). Bilbo, who had only just stopped flinching when Thorin moved his hand.

He had to do something, _anything_ , and the only option that sprung to mind was not a pleasant one.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he muttered, picking up the phone and dialling.

“Hello?” the voice barked, tired and irate.

“Azog, its Thorin Durin.”

 

 


	32. Breaking the Bindings

Bilbo had spent every spare second he’d had rubbing his bound hands against the rough wall of the basement. _Why was there always a basement_? He was beginning to dislike the idea of them completely.

Dark and damp and completely useless- unless you were involved in the Mafia, of course- then they were the most useful thing in the world, second to the Sham-fucking-Wow (which could not only be used for kitchen messes but also as a useful tool to mop up any stray blood from your enemies that got on the walls).

The rope around his hands had loosened and frayed with each grate against the wall, and was slowly breaking under the pressure he put on them. Soon he’d be able to break free of them. Then he’d just have to get out of here, though he had no idea where _here_ was.

He’d find out soon enough, he was sure.

He continued to chafe his hands viciously against the hard wall, loosening the ropes further. He had to get out now, he couldn’t spend any more time down here. He felt the rope give way a little more and leaned forward, wriggling his arms desperately, wishing he could at least _see_ what he was doing. Upstairs he could hear footsteps and voices, though they were muffled. He thought he could hear the banging of the front door if he listened carefully.

He struggled onto his knees, using what was left of his dwindling strength to pull harshly at the rope again, hoping to finally succeed in his attempts to split it. The rope burn was burning at his wrists, but he ignored it, pulling harder, and couldn’t help but make a delighted sound when he felt the rope fray a little more.

“Come on, _come on_ ,” it was loose enough now that he could wriggle his right thumb out, and he yanked at his hands harder, repressing a yell of triumph.

He could celebrate later. Right now he had to-

Loud yells erupted from upstairs and Bilbo took his chance, shaking off the last of his bindings and bolting through the basement and up the stairs, only to find the door was locked. He muttered curses to himself, running back down the stairs and looking for something to break the door with.

Turns out he didn’t need to, because the basement door creaked open loudly and the barrage of voices flooded in, people yelling at each other to get on the ground. Bilbo curled himself into a dark corner, watching as a figure slowly moved down the steps.

He was tall and muscular but very pale; with hair so short it could have been bald. From what Bilbo could see, he spotted a long, thick scar down the man’s cheek. Very obviously not Smaug, then.

He caught sight of Bilbo now, brown eyes narrowing.

“Hey,” Bilbo was ready to bolt like a jackrabbit, past the man and up the stairs, but the man’s next words stayed him. “Bilbo Baggins?” he stilled and nodded slowly, cautiously. The man smiled, but it looked more like a bearing-of-teeth than anything else to Bilbo. “Good to find you. We were worried you might be dead. Come on,” the man waved a hand at him, gesturing for him to move. “It’s alright, you can trust me.  My name’s Azog, you might have heard of me?”

“The detective?” Bilbo asked now, eyes narrowing.

“That’s the one. Now, come on, let’s get you out of here,” he let Azog grab him by the arm and lead him through the house, where police were swarming.

“There are a lot of men here,” he commented, looking about in interest. So they _were_ in Smaug’s house.

“We’re thinking we’ll find more evidence when we search his house. Sorry it took so long, we were waiting for a warrant.”

Bilbo frowned, still very confused. “I don’t understand...”

“I was sent an anonymous tip about your being here. Not to mention access to Smaug’s accounts which lead to a number of extremely incriminating activities.”

“Oh,” he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Anonymous?”

“Yes, anonymous. And I stress that word,” Bilbo felt his lips twitch.

“ _Anonymous_?” he repeated and Azog nodded. “Anonymous as in you don’t know who or anonymous as in someone you’d rather not admit to giving you advice?”

Azog did not bother to dignify that question with a reply, and he in doing such he gave Bilbo the answer.

“Let’s get you to the hospital for a check-up,” Azog said instead, taking him out of the house and onto the street.

The sun hurt his eyes and he found himself wincing, but the fresh air and the light only reiterated the fact that he was outside now, out of the basement.

But the knowledge that the Durin’s had come to help him, in their own way, was what brightened him the most. They had called _Azog_ of all people, the very man who had taken down their businesses in the northern part of the country. They’d done that just to help Bilbo.

He was smiling all the way to the hospital.

 

* * *

 

Ori cried when he found him. He fell into Bilbo’s shoulder and blubbered, all the while apologising for being such a baby. Bilbo didn’t mind, and had insisted as much, informing Ori that there was nothing wrong with crying. Dwalin had been there, too, though he’d just given Bilbo a hearty pat on the back (although the relief was evident in his eyes). The two of them seemed bone weary, dark shadows under their eyes.

“How badly are you hurt?” Ori was looking him up and down now, analysing every mark on what was visible of his body.

“Not too badly, really, a cracked rib, though, from a particularly nasty blow. But apart from that only a few bumps and bruises. And maybe a few scratched as well,” but he’d be fine. Bruises would go, and the rib would heal. There would be no lasting damage. “I’m really very hungry, though.”

Dwalin chuckled at that. “The others are waiting for you at home now; if you’re ready to go we can drive you.” He’d been ready to go home since he’d gotten out of the basement. _Home_.

“I certainly am.”

 

 

 


	33. Finally,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets welcomed home.

Kili was anxiously pacing out the front of the house, Fili standing nearby, leaning against the stair railings, and when they saw the car arrive at the gate in the distance, they’d started yelling for the others.

He was swamped with tackles and hugs and even a few kisses on his head by the two boys, who were soon followed by Bofur and Bombur, who crushed him in a vice-tight hug.

Nori was next, arms snaking around him with all the fluid movement and elegance a talented thief was supposed to have. Dori pulled at his hair and pinched his cheek when his brother finally pulled away.

Thorin’s hug was certainly the best, by far, and the warmest. But Bilbo might have been a little biased in that decision. In fact, _yes_ , he was indeed very biased, but he figured it didn't matter. He was engulfed completely, his senses overloaded by everything that was Thorin. His legs almost gave way at the intensity of the embrace, but he managed to keep himself up.

“Let’s get him inside,” Bombur said now, ushering everybody up the stairs and into the front room, “he looks like he could use a good cup of tea.”

“That sounds heavenly,” Bilbo almost moaned at the idea of a hot drink.

The kitchen was filled with loud, friendly chatter, smiling faces and a great many toasts for most of the afternoon and well into the night. By then they’d moved from tea to the good Scotch that Balin kept for special occasions, and Bombur had made the best meal Bilbo had ever had, but that might have just been the starvation talking.

All in all, it was a great feast.

Thorin’s phone rang as the plates were being collected and deposited into the sink (how convenient), and he left the room momentarily.

He returned soon after, snapping the phone shut with a look of triumph on his face. “That was Azog," he informed them all. They went silent at his words. "Smaug’s being officially arrested on smuggling and kidnapping charges, among other things.” A cheer rose up through the room, and Bilbo grinned as Dwalin was roped into trying to drink his lager while doing a handstand by Fili and Kili.

“So Smaug’s been arrested now,” he said as Thorin took his seat next to him again.

“He has.”

“And that’s it? That’s him done and dealt with?” It seemed a strange thing to Bilbo for it to all be over just like that.

“For now,” Thorin replied. “He’ll probably get off easy, spend a few years in jail, get out and go on another vendetta.”

“You really think he’s that stupid?”

“Revenge makes people do foolish things,” Thorin answered simply, and Bilbo had to agree with him. “A lot of things make people behave foolishly.”

“You are right there,” he agreed. People often did the strangest things for the stupidest reasons. “I’m just glad I’m not in anyone’s basement now. It’s seems like it’s becoming a weekly thing,” Thorin chuckled at the joke, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Bilbo didn't feel too much like laughing at it, either. “I didn’t thank you, by the way," his stomach was turning itself over just looking at him. "For helping save me.”

“Azog saved you. I only made a call.”

“If you hadn’t of swallowed your pride and asked him for help then he never would have raided Smaug’s house." Bilbo pointed out. "God knows how I would have gotten out, then...”

“You would have found a way.”

“I did get out of my bindings,” he admitted, smiling proudly. “It took me a while, but I got there.”

“Not without a few bruises,” Thorin reached out and grasped Bilbo’s chin gently, looking at the marks that were blossomed all down his face and neck. Bilbo's heart stuttered in his chest and he swallowed loudly as the rough pads of Thorn's thumbs ran over his skin. he found he quite liked the contact.

“There are a lot more of them further down,” Bilbo blushed when he thought about the suggestion those words held. He turned away quickly, averting his gaze, and Thorin let him.

It was well past midnight when Bilbo was eventually allowed to stop celebrating and make for his bed. He’d had far too much to drink and that warm, painfully full feeling of liquor pressing heavily against his stomach made him a little woozy and left him staggering.

“Here,” an arm slipped around his back and he was suddenly being held up against Thorin’s warm body, “let me help.” He smiled and contentedly leant his weight against the older man. “You’ve had a little too much to drink,” Thorin declared.

“No,” Bilbo disagreed, shaking his head. “I haven’t had much, I just can’t hold my liquor, there’s a difference.”

He felt Thorin’s chuckle vibrating through his chest and along his own body. It felt nice.

“You should laugh more,” Bilbo found himself saying.

“Maybe I will,” Thorin agreed, “Maybe you should try and make me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Thorin was grinning. “It might be.”

They reached his door now and Bilbo turned around and smiled up at him. “I don’t think you want to be making bets against me, Thorin Durin, you’re not going to win.”

“I think I’ve already learnt my lessons on that one, Bilbo Baggins,” he leant down and pressed their lips together softly.

Bilbo’s eyes flickered closed, savouring the taste. He could get used to _this_.

He felt Thorin frown now. “Is this okay?” he murmured into Bilbo’s mouth, speaking through his kisses.

“ _Okay_?” Bilbo replied now, arms winding around his neck. “This is _fantastic_.” Thorin let out a groan and deepened the kiss, pushing him into the room fully, kicking the door closed behind him.

* * *

_Fucking finally._

Thorin all but ripped Bilbo’s clothes off in his haste, leaving them in a puddle on the ground as they made their way to the bed. He’d only been waiting for this for-fucking- _ever_.

He angled his head sideways now; mouth slipping over Bilbo’s chin and down is neck, tongue laving along the soft skin there. Bilbo whined, hand clutching at Thorin’s arms, and he felt the heat in his stomach kick up a notch at that.

Bilbo climbed onto the bed now, watching as Thorin discarded the last of his own clothes. “Do you have something...?”

Bilbo’s eyes cleared briefly at Thorin’s words. “Wallet,” he gestured to his trousers. Thorin grabbed it and reached in, pulling out a condom before returning to where Bilbo was on the bed. He almost ripped the damn packet open in his impatience, but thankfully didn’t. He was quite desperate right now and didn’t feel like he had enough tolerance to go and get another one.

“You’re lovely,” Bilbo sat up, running an appreciative hand over his chest as he slipped the condom on. Thorin hummed, returning the admiring touches, calloused hands in stark contrast to Bilbo’s soft skin. He gently touched the bruises along his chest and stomach before quickly leaning down and pressing his lips to them. The anger that bubbled to the surface at the sight of the wounds wasn’t enough to override his arousal, so he pushed it aside to deal with later.

He pushed Bilbo down across the mattress and crawled over him, careful to avoid his wounds, and settled his arms down on either side of his body and lowering himself onto him.

Their lips locked together again and Thorin swallowed the small keening noises coming from his lover’s mouth as his hands ran across Bilbo’s hips and just a little lower, teasing him. Bilbo’s leg curled around Thorin’s, sliding up and down impatiently.

Now, he _had_ meant to take his time, honestly, he did. He was usually a very patient person. But that infinite amount of patience had stretched to breaking point and he lost all hold on the reins on control with that impatient move, and when Bilbo started making positively the _loveliest_ sounds he’d ever heard, Thorin snapped.

He isn't a gentle sort of lover. Thorin was doubtful he was even capable of that sort of thing. But Bilbo didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he moaned in utter delight when Thorin finally sunk deeply inside him.

 _Thank God, finally._ He would have sung the words aloud, but he found himself quite incapable of speaking at the moment. He moved slowly, trying not to start mindlessly rutting, trying to get Bilbo used to the feeling before he completely derailed and went absolutely crazy, like he knew he was going to.

Bilbo whined in impatience. “ _Thorin_.”

Quite unable to deny his little Burglar anything, Thorin found his pace quickening automatically at the plea, his thrusts deepening. Bilbo moaned loudly now, head thrown back, breathing hitching more and more.

They were too eager and too desperate for the first time to last too long, and soon enough they were nearing the edge, warmth pooling through their bodies.

Thorin watched in delight as Bilbo’s eyes went blind with pleasure and he cried out, orgasm striking Thorin off as well. He only lasted for a few more thrusts before he was crying out as well, body tensing, spending himself inside Bilbo.

In the aftermath he could barely move, and it did indeed take him a good long while to do as such.

Eventually, however, he rolled over off of Bilbo, and found a place beside him, resting their foreheads together, their breath mingling. The smile on his face was stupidly big, but he couldn’t bring himself to repress it into something a little smaller.

“That was nice,” Bilbo said, looking fairly dazed but very sated. “I could get used to that.”

“You’d better,” Thorin replied, closing his eyes, “because I certainly plan on doing that a great many more times,” and in many more places.

“ _Good_ ,” Bilbo sounded pleased, which in turn, pleased Thorin.

“You know, you’re going to be quite unable to leave now.”

“Dear me,” Bilbo teased, “how horrible that sounds.”

Thorin chuckled, letting his body relax and mellow. The feeling was not one he usually felt, but it was a nice one all the same. He decided then that he’d like to feel it more often. He was sure Bilbo could help with that.

“It’s all fun and games until you realise you’ve dug a hole for yourself, isn’t it?” Bilbo sighed now. Thorin nuzzled closer, nose pressing into his curls.

“Well, I’d like to think this isn’t such a bad hole to have dug.”

“I’m quite proud to have dug it,” he could feel Bilbo drifting off into sleep with the words.

Thorin smiled. “As am I,” Thorin replied, inhaling deeply, feeling a content he’d never quite felt before rolling over his body in waves.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too."

 

 


End file.
